


The Adventure with the Mindscape

by Giroshane



Series: Gravity Falls Adventures [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence - Weirdmageddon, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Jewish Pines Family, Minor Violence, Slurs, Weirdmageddon, especially when dream demons mess with them, mindscapes are not always pretty places
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-22 11:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6077625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Giroshane/pseuds/Giroshane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've managed to rescue Ford, but there's one little problem: he's still gold. With no way to turn him back on their own, the Resistance is forced to ask the only one who can help: Ford himself. But mindscapes aren't always pretty...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“ _ What _ ?” Stan snarled. “What do you mean  _ you can’t fix him _ ?”

Everyone was taken aback by the man’s rage: Mabel and Dipper flinched and swallowed nervously (in perfect unison, no less), Soos and Wendy took a few steps back, Pacifica, Candy, and Grenda hiding behind them, and Fiddleford H. McGucket, the victim of Stan’s fury, cowered beneath the man.

“I--I-I-I’m s-sorry, Stanf--ley, I--I th-thought D-d-dipper meant--meant somethin’ diff’rent when--”

“ _ Different _ !?” Stan shouted. “What part of, ‘Bill turned him to gold’ sounded different from  _ Bill turned my brother into gold _ !?”

“I d-d-didn’t understand, I’m not--I’m not so g-good at--” McGucket flailed, truly terrified, hell, on the verge of tears. Mabel was the only one with the courage to confront her Great Uncle’s anger.

“Grunkle Stan, he didn’t mean it, you know he still has trouble sometimes--”

Stan completely ignored her.

“Are you tellin’ me we risked all our goddamned lives, pulled that goddamned  _ hairbrained _ plan that succeeded due to pure  _ chance _ , to get Ford, and he’s stuck like this  _ forever _ !?” He roared. 

“I’m sorry!” Fiddleford wailed.

“ _ Sorry doesn’t bring my brother back _ !” Stan raised his fist high, and that’s when Dipper leapt into action.

“Grunkle Stan, stop it!” He yelled, running in between the two before Stan could strike the other man. “You need to calm down, taking it out on McGucket won’t fix anything!”

Dipper felt Fiddleford hide behind him, hands fisting in his vest and whimpering. Stan had stopped mid-swing as soon as Dipper had replaced his target, but he hadn’t calmed in the slightest.

“Ford is our only hope of stopping that demented corn chip, and  _ you  _ were our only hope of bringing  _ him _ back!” He bellowed at the mechanic over Dipper, but there was less rage in it now, more desperation. 

“And, now, short of bringing him  _ back _ to the monster who made him like this, you’re telling me there is  _ nothing we can do _ .” His voice cracked, and for a moment the man slumped; but then his anger resurged. He jabbed a finger at McGucket, screaming through tears.

“ _ Bull shit! _ You can’t  _ tell _ me that! I brought him back from the  _ depths  _ of  _ hell _ and you can’t tell me I’ve just lost my brother  _ again,  _ for  _ good _ .” All of them could visibly see the ire drain out of Stanley, replaced with broken desperation. “Not after everything I’ve done. Not after everything I’ve been through.”

Quietly he turned to the gold statue in the center of the room--the main cavern of the bunker. The group had faced incredible odds to rescue the statue from Bill’s Fearamid. Clark the Manotaur had been taken prisoner, turned to stone while providing a distraction so the rest could escape. The creature knew the risks--they all did. And they had all deemed it worth it, because Stanford Pines was the only one they knew who could help them take down Bill. Even now, down in the old bunker, they didn’t have much time. They had all jumped in fear when the most terrifying,  _ bloodcurdling _ screech swept across the whole town; no doubt Bill was furious--and furiously looking for his favorite prisoner. With Ford on their side, they would be able to stop the demon from breaking the barrier around the town and destroying the whole world. But now that hope, that  _ miracle _ , was dead.

The face of Stanford Pines, frozen in terror, was an unsettling sight for anyone to look at too long, but Stanley couldn’t tear his gaze away. Gently he reached out and brushed against what was a solid-but-shouldn’t-be-a-solid temple, as if to brush back a flyaway hair. 

“I can’t lose him again.” He whispered, shoulders shaking. Most of the group looked away sadly, stricken by the man’s grief. 

Fiddleford slowly let go of Dipper, and despite the boy shaking his head warningly, approached Stanley. The mechanic straightened, somewhat, and didn’t touch Stan, but stood by him quietly.

“I don’t want to lose him either, Stanley.” He said after a pause. “I only just remembered him.”

Stan didn’t say anything.

“I truly am sorry. I wish more than anythin’ I could know what to do...but...but…” McGucket’s brow furrowed, and his words came out in a defeated sigh. “I just can’t remember.”

“...I know.” Stan said finally, quietly, hand dropping from Ford’s face (unbeknownst to the group, Mabel twitched at that, eyes narrowing). “I don’t blame you, not--not really. We still shoulda rescued him anyway, whether he was gold or not. It’s not your fault.”

“But I--”

“And I shouldn’t have raised a hand to ya, you don’t deserve that.” Stan added hastily. Fiddleford shrugged it off.

“I’ve had worse.”

“That’s not a good thing.” Stan huffed. The two fell back into silence, staring at the statue of former family and friend. Slowly their hands drifted closer and closer, and at the first brush of contact--

“Grunkle Stan, can you do that again?” Mabel asked, both men freezing at the sound of her voice. Everyone looked at her curiously. 

“...Do what?” Stan asked warily.

“The thing you just did,” Mabel gestured to the statue of Ford. “The way you touched him. Do it again.”

Awkwardly Stan obliged, reaching out to touch Ford’s forehead. Mabel scrutinized the action closely.

“It's on the tip of my tongue--” suddenly she gasped. “The  _ mindscape _ !”

Dipper gasped too.

“Mabel, you’re a genius!” The boy cried. “If we can get into Great Uncle Ford’s mindscape, we can talk to him and he can help us turn him back to normal!”

“Really? We can go into someone’s head like that?” Stan asked, hope in his eyes but doubt in his tone.

“Yeah, we did it to you when Bill was trying to get the safe code for Gideon.” Mabel explained. Stan immediately blanched.

“ _ You’ve  _ been inside my head? Scratch that--that  _ thing’s _ been in my head?”

“Yeah,” Dipper nodded, “But we stopped him, or, at least, Gideon broke off the deal and Bill decided to leave you alone? Anyway, it was before he was all-powerful.”

Stan looked as though several different emotions were warring in his head, but finally he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Okay, fine, just--next time, when something weird like that happens, please tell me?”

“Well, at the time we thought you didn’t believe in that kind of stuff.”

“Right, right. But from now on. Keep me in the loop, got it?” The kids nodded and he nodded in return. “Alright, so how the heck do we get in Ford’s head?”

“The spell is in the journals, all we need to do is--” Dipper’s face suddenly fell. “We...we don’t have the journals. The spell was in the journals, and...and Bill destroyed them.”

“But you remember it, don’t you?” Stan prodded, desperate to hold onto the little sliver of hope he had just been given. Dipper shook his head sadly. 

“I’m sorry…”

“I know!” Soos piped up, “You guys can go into  _ my _ head, get the spell from  _ my _ memories, and then...and then...I realize now I didn’t think that plan all the way through.”

“No...don’t...don’t say that…” Stan practically whimpered. “You gotta remember it, please don’t tell me you can’t.”

“I’m sorry, Grunkle Stan,” Dipper looked away. “I remember bits and pieces but...not the whole thing. Not enough to get us in...it’s my fault. I wasn’t careful enough with the journals, Bill got to them. If we just had the journals--”

“No, no, don’t go blaming yourself for something that monster did.” Stan approached the boy and knelt down to be eye-level with him. That heartbroken look hadn’t left his eyes, but he refused to let Dipper blame himself for this.

“But if we had the journals--” Dipper began to sniff.

“I know, I know.” Stan said. “But we don’t. It’s okay, you did your best.”

“If we had just made copies or something we wouldn’t be in this mess.” Mabel sighed sadly, patting her brother’s shoulder. Suddenly it was Stan who was gasping.

“Mabel, that’s it!” He cried, grabbing her and pulling her into a tight hug; he even kissed her forehead several times, to her protests.

“Ew! Ew! What’s with the old man kisses?” She flailed.

“Mabel, I have  _ copies _ of the third journal!” Stan said excitedly. Everyone in the group perked up at that, except for Dipper, who was a little wary.

“Are you sure they’re the pages we need? I thought you only copied the pages relevant to the portal.” He said.

“Yeah, but if there’s a chance that on the back of one of them or something is the page we need, I’m gonna take it!” Stan set Mabel down and rose to his feet. “I’ll have to run out to the Shack and go get them.”

“Woah, Mr. Pines,” Wendy stepped forward, concern in her eyes. “I get that this is important but Bill’s looking for your brother, and if he sees you--any of you--he’s definitely going to go after you first, because you’re Ford’s family. It’s safer if you stay here;  _ I’ll _ go get the pages.”

“I can’t ask that of you Wendy.” Stan shook his head. “And also? You’re father would have my hide if anything happened to you.”

Before Wendy could argue, Soos spoke. 

“That is why  _ I _ will go.” He said seriously, raising his hand as if taking an oath. “I will willingly risk being turned to stone to help you guys. For I am--”

“Yeah, no.” Stan shut that down before it could go anywhere.

“Look, if Bill’s looking for us because we’re Great Uncle Ford’s family, he’s going to be looking for  _ you _ because  _ you _ know  _ us _ .” Dipper said. He gestured to himself, Mabel, and Stan. “Bill’s been in  _ all _ our heads. He’s met Soos, he likely knows who Wendy, Candy, and Grenda are, and he used to interact  _ personally _ with Old Man McGucket.”

The old man shivered behind him and shifted closer to Stanley, but no one took much notice, because suddenly it was Pacifica who was stepping forward from between Wendy and Soos.

“That’s why  _ I _ should go.” She said solemnly. Mabel immediately protested.

“No way!” She cried, shaking her arms. “You can’t!”

“I’m smaller, I’m faster, and I know how to sneak around.” Pacifica replied. “Look, everyone here is someone you care about--except for me. Bill’s less likely to go after me if he does see me.”

“She’s got a point.” Stan muttered.

“But Pacifica,  _ I _ care! I don’t want you to get hurt.” Mabel stepped within reach, and she took Pacifica’s hands in her own. The young girl jumped at the sudden contact. The youngest Northwest had become far more timid once Weirdmageddon had begun--although timid translated to incredibly defensive in Pacifica’s case--terrified by what had happened to her parents and by what she had seen (she had confided in Mabel earlier: “The world is ending, and all I’ve ever done is be  _ mean _ . If we really are all gonna die, I don’t want to spend my last days on earth like that.” and she stuck by her words even if Mabel had tried to reassure her otherwise). 

Dipper came close too.

“I agree. We can’t ask you to do this for us, not after all we’ve done to you.” He said. Pacifica huffed a weak laugh.

“Please, it’s the least I can do, after all  _ I’ve _ done to  _ you _ .” She rolled her eyes, but smiled softly at the two of them.

“No,” Mabel whined, almost petulantly. “No no no no no. None of that matters anymore--we care about you. We don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Yeah, but Bill doesn’t know that. So _I_ _will go_.” Pacifica ended firmly, staring at Stan. After all, he was the highest authority. He had the final say.

Stan frowned, glancing between the little girl before him and the statue of his twin. In tepid silence the group stood, watching as the man’s jaw clenched, and his hands balled in and out of fists. Finally he knelt to be eye-level with Pacifica.

“Look…” He said slowly, “I can’t say I want you to do this, kid. It’s not safe out there, if I can’t risk Mabel or Dipper I’m not going to risk you. That being said, we’re all aware of how important Ford is to stopping Bill. Those pages might be our only chance of getting him back. So...if you really want to do this for us, I’m not going to stop you. But if you change your mind, or want to back out, that’s completely fine--in fact I’d kinda prefer it.”

“Thank you Mr. Pines, but I’m not forfeiting today.” She grinned, and for a second her trademark arrogance flickered across her features. “Just tell me where the pages are.”

“They should be in my office desk now, third drawer on the left.” Stan reluctantly took a small ring of keys out of his inside jacket pocket and pointed to one of them. “This one will get you into it. Be careful, alright, kid? I don’t want you to get hurt, and not just because your parents could probably ruin my entire existence.”

Pacifica stiffened at the mention of her parents, but it was fleeting. She took the keys and put them in her satchel (an insisted gift from Mabel), smiling confidently.

“Consider it done, Mr. Pines.” 

“Paz,  _ please _ .” Mabel pleaded. “At least let one of us go with you.”

“Nope. You’ll just slow me down.” Pacifica said with a smirk. At this point Mabel  _ knew _ Pacifica was being intentionally rude for two reasons: because she was scared and because she wanted to make sure no one but her put themselves at risk. Mabel sighed.

“Okay. But here,” She unslung her crossbow from around her shoulders and held it out to Pacifica. “Take this. It’s not a handout,” She said hurriedly, when Pacifica seemed about to rebuff it. “Please, just take it, for me.”

Pacifica stared at the weapon for a moment, before smiling hesitantly and taking it.

“Thank you.” She said.

“Stay safe out there, Pacifica.” Dipper told her. She nodded, gratefulness genuine, before turning on her heel and running through the door that would take her out of the bunker. 

“I won’t be long!” She called over her shoulder.

When she could no longer be seen or heard, the rest of the group fell into a tense quietness. Not pure silence, but the room was never pierced by more than whispers, as if anything louder would bring their nervousness crashing down into reality. So they settled in quiet groups, conversation carrying within them but no further.

Stan and Fiddleford sat against the wall, knees up to their chests. 

“I can’t believe I just let her do that.” Stan groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I just let a twelve-year old out into the apocalyptic wilderness just for the slim _chance_ of getting my brother back. _Got_ vos di genem hobn ikh getan!?”

Fiddleford patted his shoulder comfortingly.

“You told her n-not to go. She really wanted to help--and you g-gave her an out. I think you did the--the best you could, Stan. Besides...she seems like a smart gal, if a touch…”

“Cruel, arrogant, and snobby?”

“Well, uh, yes, I--I s-suppose. But she  _ is _ twelve, Stan. And thanks to yer two youngins, she’s seemed to have had a--a real change o’ heart.”

“Yeah,” Stan smiled for a moment (proud of the fact that Mabel and Dipper were able to change a  _ Northwest _ of all people into a good person), but it quickly fell into a grimace. “And I just sent her to her potential  _ doom _ .  _ Moses _ .”

“And for  _ him _ .” Stan gestured to Ford weakly. “What does it say about me, that I’m willing to risk a child’s life just to get him back?”

“ _ She _ was willin’, not you.” Fiddleford pointed out.

“Yeah, and I could have just as easily forced her to stay put. Ya know that kid responds to a bell? It’s kind of creepy.”

“Stan, nothin’ will come of it if ya b-blame yerself. In fact, I--I wouldna been surprised if she’da snuck out anyhow, if ya said no.” The man said. “Most of these kids would have if you had told them--told them all to stay put. They’re rebebli--rebellious like that.”

“ _ Drek _ , what if she gets hurt?”

“She’ll be fine, Stan.” His words were confident, but his actions were not--he picked at the threads of the sweater worn over his overalls (the sweater being another gift from Mabel; Fiddleford accepted it gratefully, but secretly it hurt to look at--it reminded him how pitiful he was, how emaciated and weak he was to be able to fit in a young girl’s sweater). He picked at his sweater incessantly, as if all his fears would attack him if he stopped.

Across the room, Candy and Grenda sat side-by-side, nervously watching their friend pace back and forth endlessly. 

“Mabel, maybe you should take it easy. You’re making yourself really stressed.” Grenda said.

“I’m  _ already _ really stressed. I’m stressed because it’s the  _ apocalypse _ , Grenda! Who  _ wouldn’t _ be stressed? And I’m the one who  _ started _ it! So double the stress!” She snapped. She softened as soon as the words left her mouth, realizing how harsh they were.

“I’m sorry, Grenda, I didn’t mean to be a jerk. I’m just…”

“Worried?” Candy supplied.

“Yeah.”

“About Pacifica?” The girl added. Mabel folded her arms behind her back and continued to pace.

“Yeah.”

“You have to admit, Mabel, she was correct in her arguments. Bill knows the least about her from being in your minds.” Candy said.

“Yeah, not to mention she’s like, really good at sports and stuff. She’s really talented. And you gave her your crossbow, that’ll help.” Grenda added. Mabel smiled, taking small comfort in their words.

“Thank you, guys.”

And, as far away from the cryogenically frozen shapeshifter--that still looked like Dipper--as possible, Dipper was huddled in between Soos and Wendy, letting their shapes block his view of the monster that looked so eerily like him.

“Come on, Dipper, don’t be such a downer.” Wendy tried, although the way she was tapping her fingers betrayed she was just as nervous.

“I’m sorry, Wendy, I’m just...I feel really bad. What if Pacifica gets hurt? That’ll be our fault.”

“Look, I’m not saying this justifies her going out there, but...didn’t you kind of help her rid her family of a really old curse and stuff?”

“Yeah, she might just want to return the favor. You break her family’s curse, she breaks yours?” Soos offered. Dipper shrugged.

“I guess you could say he’s a curse, considering everything he’s done to the Pine family. But Bill is still far worse than what I had to deal with at the Northwest Mansion. And in the end, it was Pacifica that saved the day that time. She could have just as easily let us all stay wood.”

“But she didn’t.” Wendy said. “And she’s a lot nicer now--because of you and Mabel.”

“Yeah...and I was so mean to her for so long...I’d feel really bad if anything bad happened to her. She doesn’t deserve it, not now.” Dipper sighed. Wendy held his hand, and it was comfort; Soos wrapped his arm around Dipper’s shoulders, and it was very  _ very _ heavy, but it was also a comfort.

It was several  _ hours  _ before Pacifica once again entered the bunker. The click and whirring of machinery as the bunker’s traps came to life alerted them all, and those of the group that weren’t already standing leapt to their feet. The clang and grating of metal filled the room as the symbol trap was activated. They could have easily deactivated it and let whoever it was through, but it could be one of Bill’s lackeys as easily as it could be Pacifica. The rule was to not let anyone through the bunker traps unless they gave the special code, and only then in the case that they couldn’t get through themselves. 

But after a very short time (that didn’t feel like a short time at all), the door swung open, and out rolled Pacifica, looking slightly battered but otherwise fine. She lay on the ground panting for a moment.

“Remind me to have my family’s private bank contact Dr. Pines to help enhance their security.” She breathed heavily. Mabel began to run forward, but Stan held her back; he was just as happy to see the little girl as his grand-niece, but they all knew the rules. There was one final test, to make sure it wasn’t a demon in disguise.

“Password.” He said simply.

“Nemen tsurik di Falls.” Pacifica huffed, sitting up. The whole group relaxed, and Stan let Mabel run forward.

“Paz!” Mabel practically tackled the girl in a hug. After an awkward moment, Pacifica returned the embrace.

“Hi.” 

“Oh my gosh are you alright? Your hair’s a mess! Your sweater’s got tears! What happened?” Mabel chattered. Pacifica giggled.

“What, did you expect my hair to not get messed up while running through the woods?” She asked teasingly. “I’m fine. And…”

She pulled her satchel around and opened it, pulling out the keys...and the pages! She showed one page in particular. 

“This is what you guys were looking for, right?” She grinned. Dipper ran forward and grabbed it.

“Yes! This has the spell on it! Thank you Pacifica!” He cried excitedly. As he eagerly read over the page, Mabel once again hugged Pacifica.

“Thank you so much, Pacifica.” She said. 

“Hey, how is the rest of the group at the Shack?” Wendy asked. “You were gone for a long time. Are they doing okay?”

Pacifica nodded, but there was an edge of concern to her voice when she spoke next.

“Yeah...Chief Blubs is still holding the Shack together, everyone there is doing okay--with the barrier in place. Bill’s targeting the Shack pretty heavily, but because of the barrier him and his buddies can’t get in. It took me a while to figure out how to sneak through them and get inside. I ended up using some extra rope and the crossbow to pull me across the backyard really fast and under the porch when that keyhole guy’s back was turned. I used the crossbow again to break my way through the floorboards. I had to do the same thing to get back out. So...I’m really glad you gave it to me Mabel. Thank you.” The girl smiled, taking Mabel’s hand and squeezing it. Mabel returned the grip, grinning. 

“I knew it would come in handy.” She said.

“So the Shack’s okay?” Stan asked.

“Yeah, with the barrier in place. But Bill’s bombarding the place pretty heavily. It’s not safe for anyone to go in or out, and Bill’s demons are making it pretty hard for anyone to get any rest. They’re not going to crack, but it’s not easy for them out there. They’re essentially trapped.”

“That means we have no time to lose. Mabel, can you come take a look at this?” Dipper called. After squeezing Pacifica’s hand one more time, she leapt up and ran over to her brother to scrutinize the copy page.

“Nice job, Pacifica. We’ll go get ya some grub.” Wendy said, offering the girl a high-five, which she returned. Wendy and Soos went with Candy and Grenda to go raid the ration pile in the control room. This left Stan and McGucket, and Pacifica, still sitting on the ground. Stan kneeled down next to her.

“Thank you, Pacifica.” He said. “It really means a lot to me, what you just did.”

“Don’t mention it.” Pacifica smiled.

“Right. Now,” Stan smirked knowingly. “Where are ya hurt?”

The girl immediately froze.

“I’m not hurt. I’m fine. Just tired.” She said, but Stan shook his head.

“I know it when I see it kid. I’ve spent too many years trying to hide my own injuries from my family. Come on, what happened to ya?”

After a moment, the girl sighed, and pointed to her right arm, which she actually hadn’t really moved since she rolled in. 

“I think I dislocated my shoulder when I yanked myself under the porch.” She admitted. Stan looked, and now that he was looking for it he could see the odd angle her shoulder was at, mostly disguised by her sweater (another insisted gift from Mabel, worn over the rags she had been found in). Guilt and worry filled the old man.

“Moses kid, why didn’t you say?” He gingerly reached a hand out and laid it on her shoulder. The girl winced at the contact, but she knew what was going to happen.

“I didn’t want anyone to worry. I don’t want you guys to be scared. And either way, I’ve dislocated stuff before, I would’ve fixed it myself if I wasn’t in such a hurry.” Pacifica tried to play it off.

“Excuse my language, but how the  _ hell _ have you dislocated stuff before?” Stan asked incredulously, gently resting his hands on the front of the girl’s shoulder and the middle of her back.

“Sports, mostly. A Northwest has to be the best at everything they do, sometimes that means pushing yourself to your limits.”

“Okay, there’s pushing yourself and then there’s pushing yourself too far, kid. If your parents push you to the point you’re hurting yourself, I hope you don’t mind if I push my fist into their faces.” Stan growled. Lord almighty, he felt like going out and punching Preston Northwest in the face right now, for all the man was currently cowering away in the attic of the Mystery Shack with a paper bag over his head--and he wouldn’t hesitate to hit Priscilla too, if she hadn’t already been taken by Bill’s Eye-Bats. How could they be so cruel as to push their daughter to the point of hurting herself and not care about it? Stan had already experienced something similar once in his life and he’d be damned if he saw this little girl go through it too.

“What? No! It’s fine,  _ I’m fine _ .” Pacifica spat. Stan bristled. Realizing that the two would butt heads otherwise (wow, who would have guessed Stanford Pines and Pacifica Northwest went toe to toe in terms of stubbornness), McGucket spoke.

“Darlin’ is yer h-hand alright?” The man adjusted his glasses and pointed to her right hand, cradled in her lap. Pacifica looked away from the both of them.

“When I was sneaking back out, whatever a couple of Bill’s demons were doing knocked down a tree. I mostly got out of the way in time, but a branch pinned my hand down. I think it’s broken.” She muttered. Stan swore under his breath.

“C-criminy! Oh, and you r-ran through the woods and went through them bunker traps with all that? Oh d-dear! I’m going to go get the first--first aid kit.” Fiddleford scampered off before Pacifica could protest. Stan sighed.

“We should set this.” He said. Pacifica nodded, squeezing her eyes shut and gripping the strap of her satchel with her white-knuckled good hand.

“On three.” Stan murmured. “One, two,  _ three _ .”

There was a sickening crunch as he snapped the girl’s shoulder back into place. Pacifica inhaled sharply, but otherwise made no sound, although tears sprung to her eyes. Stan had to admit, he was impressed the girl could handle pain so well. Then again, he felt awful she had to be in pain at all.

“You’re definitely a trooper kid, I’ll give ya that. Never seen anyone be as calm as you with a busted shoulder and hand.” He told her. Pacifica sniffed, rubbing her shoulder.

“Well...beauty is pain and all that whatever.” She replied. “Thank you.”

“And your Yiddish ain’t half-bad, either. If you had pronounced that any better I would have thought it wasn’t the real you.” He added (and it was true--half of the point of a Yiddish password was for everyone to do their best not to butcher it, but butcher it anyways, since Stan was the only one in the Resistance who was fluent--a demon was more likely to pronounce it perfectly).

“Thanks, I guess. I like it, it’s a nice language. I’ve always wanted to learn languages, to be able to talk to all sorts of people and all that, but...my parents think it’s a waste of time. They think everyone should just speak English.”

“Okay,  _ that’s _ a load of bull.” Stan informed her. She laughed.

“I agree. That’s why I have a bunch of secret language books. I’m studying Spanish right now.”

“Oh enserio?” Stan raised an eyebrow. “Y cómo va?”

“Bien, yo pienso. Puedo hacer pequeñas conversaciones.” She answered easily. 

They smiled hesitantly at each other, sharing a laugh. Maybe they each weren’t as bad as the other had thought they were.

“Here, here, let me see.” Fiddleford was back with a small box. Gingerly Pacifica held her hand out to him; he handled it as delicately as glass.

“Oh dear, darlin’ these bones are  _ shattered _ . Oh when we s-stop the end t-times yer really gonna have to see a--a doctor for this.” He said, the sympathy in his tone plain as day. He took out a roll of bandages from the kit and began to gently wrap her hand. “An’ I’m pretty sure there’s some aspirin in h-here, you should take some for the pain.”

“Okay.”

“Maybe Ford’ll be able to do something about it. I’m pretty sure one of his twelve PhDs is a medical one.” Stan offered.

“Twelve? I don’t recall him havin’--havin’ twelve. Five, is what he had, and none of them were fer medicine.” Fiddleford said, confused.

“Then he must have gotten the other seven while he was on the other side of the portal. We can always ask him ourselves. Speakin’ of which--” Stan called out to Mabel and Dipper. “Kids, is that page what we need?”

“Yep!” Dipper answered, waving the page. Mabel was running around the statue, setting up little gobs of wax that barely passed for candles in a circle and lighting them. “The spell’s all here. It’s a little faded out, but Mabel helped me fill the words back in.”

“Good,” Stan nodded, turning back to Pacifica. “Is there anything else you need help with?”

“No, I’m okay. I’ve got a few cuts and stuff, but I can take care of them myself.”

“Alright.” Stan rose and went over to the twins.

“You take that aspirin, dear,” Fiddleford patted her shoulder. “And--and try to rest now.”

“I will, thank you.” She said, and added after a pause, “You know, for a crazy town kook, you’re pretty good at taking care of all of us.”

Fiddleford smiled warmly, and there wasn’t a trace of insanity to it at all. There rarely was anymore, especially once Stan’s Resistance started up. Heck, it could even be argued McGucket started the whole thing; he was the one who had found most of them, trying to survive on the streets or in the woods, or even hiding in his old home in the junkyard; he led them all to the Shack. He actually seemed to be the one most preoccupied with everyone else’s health. He always made sure everyone had something to eat and that they got enough rest; he always fussed over anyone who was hurt. Not counting the supernatural creatures of the group, McGucket was the oldest member of the Resistance. Pacifica figured that and the fact that the man--being a hobo--was far too used to not having enough of anything, and didn’t wish to see anyone in a similar state, was the reason why he was so caring; but there was always something else to it, something Pacifica wasn’t familiar with and couldn’t place, but could see, especially whenever McGucket interacted with the kids: Candy and Grenda, Pacifica herself, and Mabel and Dipper when they arrived.

“Ya know, out of all the things I forgot over the years, bein’--bein’ a father was never one of ‘em.” He said simply. He walked off after that, but Pacifica stared after him, eyes wide.

Father. That...would explain it.

Wendy, Soos, Candy and Grenda returned with food, though, and attention turned to that as well as the statue in the center of the room. The three Pines and McGucket all stood about it.

“Okay, we’ve got the spell here. We just need to recite it while touching Grunkle Ford’s head, and we’ll be in his mindscape.” Mabel explained. Dipper was dragging a stepladder over.

“Excuse me young lady,” Stan frowned. “What do you mean ‘ _ we _ ’?”

“We know how mindscapes work, Grunkle Stan.” Dipper said, setting the stepladder up next to the statue and climbing up it so he was within reach of Ford’s head. “Mabel and I know how to interact with the environment. We also know how to get out.”

“Like he-- _ heck _ I’m letting you in my brother’s head!” Stan said sternly. 

“We went into your head and we came out fine.” Mabel pointed out as she climbed up to join her brother. Stan couldn’t argue that, although he had the nagging feeling that Ford’s head wasn’t going to be similar to his own. But the kids were right: he had no idea how to navigate a mindscape on his own.

“Alright, fine. But we stick together, ya hear me?” He said. The twins nodded, each placing a hand on Ford’s gold skull. Stan placed his hand on the statue’s head as well. He turned back to the rest of the group.

“You keep an eye out, alright? Do your best to defend this place, and us. We’ll try not to be too long. Worst comes worst and Bill gets down here, you put yourselves before us, and go hide in the tunnels. Don’t try to lug us with you--that’s an  _ order _ .” Stan commanded. Reluctantly they all nodded, not wanting to think about that legitimate possibility.

“Good luck, guys!” Soos said. The three nodded.

Suddenly a fourth hand joined theirs on Ford’s skull.

“I’m comin’ too.” Fiddleford was standing completely straight in order to touch the statue’s head; it was odd to see the man so tall (not that he was very tall at all anymore--he seemed to be at an even height to Stan, not more than 5’ 10”).

“What? Why?” Stan asked.

“I know my way around m-memories.” The mechanic said. “And if my memories about that--that triangle demon are correct, he's likely been doing somethin’ to Stanford’s head ever s-since he got s-stuck like this. Yer gonna need all the--all the help you can get in there.”

“Right, ‘cause we can always trust  _ your _ memories.” Stan grumbled, but he didn’t seem to want to argue further. He just wanted to get on with getting his brother back already. “Fine. Four people in my brother’s head. This’ll go wonderful.”

“Alright,” Dipper breathed. “Here we go.”

As he began to chant, the four went rigid, and one by one blue overtook their eyes.

“ _ Videntus omnium. Magister mentium. Magnesium ad hominem. Magnum opus. Habeas corpus! Inceptus Nolanus overratus! Magister mentium! Magister mentium! MAGISTER MENTIUM! _ ”

With that, their world spun wildly, warping and shifting and falling falling  _ falling _ \--

And then all four landed on solid ground.

They were in Ford’s mindscape.

And the first thing they registered was  _ noise.  _ It was so incredibly loud, like being in the center of a giant city. There were thousands of overlapping voices that varied in volume and tone, blending into one huge unintelligible mess; cars honking and tires screeching; the blast of trains as they roared past and the rumbling of planes overhead. It was as disconcerting as it was distracting, and mostly because  _ none of it was there _ .

There were no planes or trains or automobiles. There were no voices. The quartet were standing in the middle of what appeared to be a wintry pine forest, stretching out for a very long time in every single direction. There was no way of knowing where the source of all the noise was.

“Holy unicorns!” Mabel cried, covering her ears with her hands. “Where is it all coming from?”

“It  _ looks _ peaceful, but it sounds like chaos.” Dipper added, looking around. He snapped his fingers, and suddenly a knob with the word “VOL” printed on it appeared, floating in the air before him. “Maybe we can just turn it down a little for now.”

He turned the knob, and like that the cacophony faded--it was still there, but not as deafening. 

“That’s better.” He dusted his hands off.

“That’s so weird,” Mabel commented, gazing around. “It seems like Grunkle Ford’s mindscape is all spread out everywhere--Grunkle Stan’s was so quiet and organized, with the doors in the Shack and all. And most of it was black and white, too, except for his memories and dreams and stuff.”

“Well, uh,” Stan was still a little taken aback. Snow was falling lightly in the forest they were standing in, but it didn’t feel cold at all. “Isn’t there some saying about how geniuses minds are never quiet ‘cause their heads are always buzzing with ideas?”

“I can attest to that!” Fiddleford chirped, kicking the snow a little. Stan shot him a withering look.

“Riiiiiight. I think your case is different, pal.”

Dipper hushed the two.

“There’s all this noise, but no sign of Great Uncle Ford anywhere.” He said, looking through the trees. All four of them were doing their best to peer through the pine trees, but the forest was very dense, and the snow still falling didn’t help matters. “How are we going to be able to find him in these woods?”

Suddenly loud rumbling, louder than the volume Dipper had set the mindscape to, began to fill the air and shake the ground. Snow began to fall in drifts as they were shaken from the trees.

And suddenly Ford broke through the underbrush, running as fast as his legs could take him and screaming his head off; he ran right past the group and continued on running.

“Uh...like that?” Mabel pointed in Ford’s direction. Immediately the rumbling increased, and  _ huge _ gusts of wind knocked the trees down around them, to reveal a giant, whirling cyclone of snow and forest debris. It twisted wildly through forest and was undeniably chasing after Ford.

“Yep, time to go!” Dipper cried. “ _ Run _ !”

The four burst into a sprint, in the direction Ford had taken. They could see him weaving through the trees, but he was some distance ahead of them.

“Ford! Ford!” Stan called. Ford hardly spared a glance over his shoulder. He just kept running, giving the others no choice but to follow him. 

It thankfully wasn’t too hard to put some distance between themselves and the cyclone--as violent as it was the dense forest seemed to slow it down. But Ford definitely didn’t slow down--that is, until he slipped vaulting over a log. The man landed flat on his back, cursing violently. Nonetheless, he had got back to his feet by the time the other four had caught up to him, and just as they began to slow he took off again. This time they were able to follow directly behind.

“Grunkle Ford!” Dipper yelled--not intending to use ‘Grunkle’ but finding it easier to say in this case. “Grunkle Ford! What’s going on?”

It was a few moments before Ford grunted as he ran.

“Damn witch--should have known not to try trading with her.” 

“A witch is causing  _ that _ !?” Dipper glanced over his shoulder. The cyclone was picking up speed, and was slowly but surely gaining on them. Ford seemed about to speak again when he suddenly tripped and fell, falling far behind the group as they hadn’t registered it fast enough (they also hadn’t registered something, something very brief in Ford’s eyes). 

And the cyclone was upon him then.

“No! No!” The man screamed, but he couldn’t move fast enough. He was engulfed by the cyclone, and as soon as he had disappeared the cyclone changed direction, looping around and whirling back in the direction it had come.

“Ford! No!” Stan yelled, immediately taking off after the cyclone, Mabel, Dipper, and McGucket all following closely behind.

“I don’t get it!” Mabel cried as snow and trees and wind blew by them. “Doesn’t Ford know he can control the mindscape!?”

“I dunno! Maybe he’s too scared! You know, like when you’re having a nightmare and you’re so scared you can’t remember you’re dreaming!” Dipper answered.

“Is this a dream? Or is it a memory?” Stan snapped, weaving through the trees faster than the twins had ever seen him run before. 

“I--I think it’s a memory!” Fiddleford huffed. “I think I remember him tellin’ me about something like this once! But I don’t recall him being picked up by a--a windy-whirly thing!”

“Do you think it might be a combination?” Dipper suggested.

“Could be!”

They continued after the cyclone, but unfortunately it was too fast for them, and although they kept running in the same direction it soon dropped out of sight.

“Don’t give up!” Stan cried, still running. His brother had been just within reach! How could they find him and lose him so quickly inside the nerd’s own damn head?

Soon the trees began to thin out, more and more daylight streaming through the thick branches. Like surfacing from underwater the four burst into a clearing, the trees stopping dead short in a wide circle. The sudden brightness and space was dizzying, and brought all four runners to a stop, panting heavily.

“Dangit!” Mabel gasped. “We lost it. Oh, and we could’ve used mindscape powers to stop that thing ourselves! Why didn't we think of that?”

“I guess we were just too distracted.” Dipper sighed. “We’ll just have to find Grunkle Ford in a different memory or dream and pull him from there.”

“And how are we going to do that?” Stan asked, still trying to regain his breath. Even in the mindscape he couldn't escape his lack of endurance, it seemed.

“By looking.” Dipper shrugged. Suddenly he cried out as Fiddleford lifted him up high in the air.

“Quick! Look over that there ridge! My eyesight's darn-blasted and I ain't tall enough, but I think I see somethin’!” The man said hurriedly, turning in the direction he was talking about. Indeed, there seemed to be a ridge in the clearing behind them, with a semi-steep drop-off. With Fiddleford lifting him up, he actually could see over it, and what he saw made him gasp.

“Woah! There's a big spaceship down there!” He cried. “Maybe Ford’s inside!”

Fiddleford gently set him on the ground and the four took off. Unfortunately the ridge’s drop off was a lot steeper than it had previously appeared, and they skidded to a stop at the edge of it. In fact, it wasn’t a ridge they were standing on at all, but the edge of a crater. And in the center was, indeed, a very large spaceship. It was as black as obsidian, and reflected the light as such. A curved dorsal fin rose high out of the top, and it had similarly curved wings. What appeared to be rocket boosters were on the back, which was closest to them. It wasn’t running--if anything, it looked like a crashed ship. There was a jagged hole in underneath one booster, and it was smoking. 

“Sled!” Mabel snapped her fingers, and a large sled, large enough to fit all four of them, appeared, teetering on the edge of the crater. “Hop on!”

Stan got on first in the back, weight keeping the sled from falling on its own, and one by one the other three sat.

“Alright, here we go!” He cried, shifting his weight forward and tipping the sled down the crater.

But again, they underestimated the steepness of the slope--at least, Stan, Fiddleford, and Dipper realized this, and promptly started screaming. But Mabel was laughing with delight as they sped down the wall of the crater way too fast to be safe.

“We gotta stop this thing!” Stan yelled.

“What?” Mabel looked over her shoulder at the three behind her, and forward, to where the wall of the spaceship was fast approaching. “ _ Oh! _ Woah wOAH WOAH WOAH! PILLOWS! PILLOWS PILLOWS PILLOWS!”

She waved her arms, and a mountain of pillows appeared, and the sled crashed into it with a loud  _ thump _ . Down feathers flew everywhere. They had been engulfed by the mountain of pillows.

Dipper resurfaced from the mountain first, gasping for breath. After a pause, McGucket was practically launched out from another part of the mountain with a startled hoot, Stan popping out behind him. And finally Mabel, only a few feet away from Dipper, slowly rose out from the pillows, disheveled and a little battered (she was, after all, at the front of the sled, and pillows aren't soft on immediate impact).

“Sorry about that guys.” She muttered woozily, opting to fall forward and slide down the pillows to the ground, while her brother carefully climbed down.

McGucket opened his mouth to speak, but was overtaken by a coughing fit. It was strong enough to make the man double over.

“Are you alright?” Stan asked.

“I'm--I’m--” The man tried between hacking. “Just got some--some--feathers down my throat--” there was a fairly loud (disgusting) hack, and a few feathers were spat out “--I’m good--” a few more violent coughs, a few more feathers, the man whacking his own chest to try and dispel them. “--I’m--I’m goo--oh no--” there was an awful retching sound as he grabbed onto Stan for support, much to the other man’s disgust; thankfully Fiddleford managed to recover then (barely). “No no, I'm good. I'm fine.”

Dipper snapped his fingers, and the pillows vanished, revealing the jagged hole into the spaceship that now towered over them. With a wary glance to the rest of the group, he entered the ship first, ears piqued and eyes peeled for anything that might be Ford. Easier said than done, however: the ship was as dark inside as it was outside, and appeared to have no lighting; not only that, as soon as he stepped inside the sound distorted--like he had been submerged in water. 

“Woah…” He breathed, manifesting a flashlight in his hand. When he clicked it on, it hardly penetrated the darkness at all. It was like a thick black fog. 

Mabel hopped in next, and immediately stumbled as her vision and hearing distorted too. 

“Jeez! What is this?” Her voice warbled, indeed, like she was underwater. Stan and McGucket followed her and felt the same effects.

“As if his brain wasn’t weird enough.” Stan muttered, eyes straining in the dark. He jumped as he felt hands wrap around his arm--it was simply Fiddleford, though. He was far more skittish in the dark, Stan had learned, and so didn’t protest.

“Uh...let’s go this way.” Dipper hoped he wasn’t pointing at a wall or anything. He had hardly took one step before strange, distant yelling reached their ears.

“Is that Grunkle Ford?” Mabel asked, standing by her brother. No lie, this place was a little freaky.

“Could be--I think it’s coming from this way--let’s go!” Dipper answered excitedly. He took off running towards the sound of the yelling, but only made it a few feet before he crashed into a wall.

“Dipper! Are you okay?” Mabel helped him to his feet. Groaning, he rubbed his head. Running around in this place probably wasn’t the best idea considering the black, soupy fog that seemed to engulf everything. But if they didn’t hurry, they could lose Ford again!

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” He tried to brush her off. “Come on, we should hurry!”

He turned and started to run again, despite his flashlight doing little to light his way. He made it a little bit longer this time before again, running into a wall.

“Ow!”

“Okay okay,” Stan said. “No more running. I don’t know if you can get brain damage while  _ in _ someone else’s brain, but I don’t want to use Dipper to find out. There’s gotta be a better way than having him run into walls to navigate this place.”

“Well--here.” Fiddleford said, rubbing his hands together. When he opened them, a small rectangular device rested in his palms. “If I imagined the wiring correctly it should work like any good ol’ proximimy--proximitter--” The man struggled with the word.

“Proximity?” Dipper suggested, examining the device. “A proximity detector?”

“Yeah! Thems are the words. It should tell us if there’s anythin’ in front of us.” Fiddleford grinned. He started walking forward, and after flipping a switch on the detector it began to beep intermittently. While they still moved quickly, they didn’t run, and the beeping picked up whenever they were near a wall (although that still didn’t completely keep McGucket from accidentally walking into it--but at least he wasn’t ramming into them like Dipper). As they moved onwards, the sound of yelling became louder and louder. 

After several turns down several corridors they took another turn and at the end of...well, wherever they were, a dim blue rectangle of light appeared, permeating the darkness. It only took a single look between the four of them before they were running for it, proximity detector forgotten (and actually dropped by McGucket). 

The rectangle of light happened to be a doorway on their left, and when they ran through it they--well, first of all they  _ gasped _ . Not one of them had never expected to see anything like this in their entire lives. What stretched before them was a  _ galaxy _ , a whole entire galaxy of stars and moons and planets, a spiral of brightness against the backdrop of other galaxies, and greens and blues and deep deep purples. It was glitter on a universal scale. It was  _ breathtaking _ .

Mabel was the first to step forward, into the open and towards the dazzling image. But her attention was quickly taken away from it and forced to her left; it was the same with the guys as they too followed her out.

They had actually entered a great hall, great as a football field and just as high; the galaxies were just the incredible view offered by a ceiling-to floor window (and served as most of the room’s illumination). The floor was a smooth and reflective silver-blue metal, and their shoes clacked loudly when they walked. But the most arresting sight was at the far end of the hall: a raised dais, and, upon it, what was most undoubtedly an  _ alien _ .

It was incredibly large, nearly the height of the hall itself, a writhing mass of iridescent tentacles. At first glance one would think it was actually multiple monsters but for a single large eye in the center of it. It glowed large and golden, with a horizontal black pupil (much like a goat’s, actually) cutting through its glow. It growled, but...it was a sound that the four had never heard before. It was definitely growling, but it was foreign, if that were possible. At no point in their known universe had this noise been heard. As soon as they heard it Mabel and Dipper held each other’s hands; Stan flinched and McGucket practically  _ collapsed _ cowering ( _ fear the beast with just one eye fear the beast with just one eye they’re there they’re always watching and you forgot but now you remember and they’re watching watching  _ **_watching_ ** _ ) _ \--but Stan reached out and grabbed his hand. 

“It’s not real.” The man muttered to him, and the mechanic grounded himself in the calluses of the man’s palm. 

Stanley himself couldn’t tear his gaze away from the alien. He had seen some shit in his life, but hell this didn’t _compare_. Hell, did it even fit in the same _category_? But more than that, his eyes settled on the small figure--small only because of how far away he was from Stan’s viewpoint--halfway between the group and the dais.  
Ford.

The man was gesturing wildly, and his voice carried clearly about the hall with no distortion at all. 

“We had a deal, you bastard!” 

“Ford!” Stan yelled over the alien’s growling response, running forward--or trying to. For all the sound ceased to distort, the air had become physically soupy. It was like he was forcing his way through invisible sludge. Everyone else came up against the same resistance.

“What the heck is happening?” Mabel circled her arms like a swimmer, but it did no good. “Is this what this spaceship was actually like?”

“Ford! Stanford, snap out of it!” Stan yelled frantically. If he couldn’t get to his brother immediately he could at least try to get his attention. “ _ Sixer! _ ”

“Grunkle Ford! You’re in the mindscape!” Mabel joined in. The rest followed suit.

“Stanford! Stanford!”

“Grunkle Ford! None of this is real you have to snap out of it!” 

“Come on!”

“We’re over here!”

But it served no use. Ford was deaf to them. He continued his apparent argument with the alien as the four struggled their way towards him.

“No, it’s because you’re a goddamn  _ coward _ !” Ford snarled. “I should have known better than to trust you to keep your end of the bargain!”

Suddenly the man straightened, and when he next spoke the smugness in his voice was as plain as day.

“In fact...I  _ did _ know better.” 

He pulled something out of his pocket--some oddly shaped device with a keypad and glowing red light at the end of it. He held it high and in plain sight, which definitely garnered a reaction. The alien’s tentacles jerked and writhed violently, and the strain could be heard in the growl the creature emitted.

“I  _ did _ dare. Ten charges around the main engines of the ship. I press this button, and we all go up. You  _ give me  _ the Int-Dim Hopper _ ,  _ let me _ leave safely _ , and  _ maybe _ I won’t blast this piece of  _ opfal _ to atoms.” Ford’s voice was as threatening as Stan had ever heard it.

“ _ Ford _ !” He tried again. He tried to will a whip into existence, or a rope, something he could try and hook Ford with, but when he did produce it, it moved just as sluggishly as he did. Fiddleford manifested a motorcycle (and one incredibly detailed, too, too detailed to be from anything but memory--Stan would have to ask the hillbilly about it later), but to the same detriment. Despite the incredibly huge (and glaringly illegal) engines on the thing, it moved just as slowly as the rest of them. 

“ _ Yes _ I  _ am _ .” Ford spat at the alien, who had been growling that whole time. “Because without it I might as well roll over and  _ die _ . So you give me the Hopper, or you can kiss your ass goodbye.”

The alien’s growl became suddenly heaving, as seemingly close to laughter as it could get, tentacles wriggling instead of writhing. And it was a blink or miss it moment, but Dipper caught it.

“Did you just see that?” He cried. He struggled harder against the air resistance.

“What?”

“It’s eye--didn’t you see it? It just went yellow!” 

“Dipper, the thing’s eye  _ is _ yellow.” Stan grunted.

“No, it just went  _ Bill _ yellow! And the slit changed, I saw it! What the heck!?”

Whatever Dipper had seen, it was gone now. And whatever the alien was growling, it was making Ford lose his confidence.

“I beg your pardon?” The man hissed. Suddenly a tentacle lashed out, knocking the detonator out of his hand. It clattered loudly on the ground. Ford scrambled after it (apparently unimpeded by whatever was hindering the other four humans), but that same tentacle wrapped around the man’s ankle and slammed him to the ground. The tentacle began... _ pulsing _ , slowly dragging Ford towards its owner, who was growling excitedly.

“What--this isn’t what happe-- _ what _ ?” The man struggled as more tentacles shot out and wrapped around his arms and legs. “ _ Trade? _ No! NO! Let me go! Don’t touch me  _ don’t touch me _ !  _ Please _ !”

“Grunkle Ford!” The kids gasped in unison, struggling as hard as they could to get to him. Stan fought with all his might too...but Fiddleford. Fiddleford stood still, fear and horror and...and resignation in his features. As Ford’s screams increased in terror and desperation, he snapped his fingers.

Suddenly Dipper’s world was nothing but darkness and silence. 

“Woah! What’s going on!?” He cried, hands waving wildly (but ever slowly).

“Dipper! Dipper where’d you go!?” Mabel’s voice rang in his ears loud and clear, but hers was the only sound. 

“Mabel! I can’t see a thing!”

“Who turned out the lights!?” Stan snarled, voice clear as well. “What’s around my ears? Is this a headset? What the  _ hell _ !?”

“ _ Don’t take them off _ .” Fiddleford said, firm and commanding. None of them had ever heard his voice sound like that before. “Whatever you do, don’t take off the headphones, don’t take off your eye-coverin’s. We’re leaving.”

“Like hell we are!” Stan yelled. He tugged at the blindfold around his eyes. “I gotta save my brother, that’s why we’re  _ here _ dammit.”

Hands covered his own, trying to keep him still, but he ripped away from them.

“ _ Screw you _ , McGucket!” He yelled.

“Stanley don’t--”

Too late. Stan ripped off the blindfold and shoved the the headphones back (it actually was a headset, with a microphone attached so the group could talk to each other without hearing anything else), and as soon as his eyes adjusted it felt like his heart had stopped too. Ford’s screams pierced his fucking  _ soul _ . 

“Ford.” At first his voice was weak; then it gained strength. “ _ FORD!” _

He clawed and kicked and dragged himself through the resistance; yet the closer he got the harder it seemed to become. But he  _ had _ to get to his brother, he  _ had _ to save him.

“Grunkle Stan, what’s happening?” That was Dipper. No. The kids couldn’t see this.

“Keep that junk on your heads!” He yelled into the mic of his headset. He could see them to his left, holding each other close having found found each other. 

He was getting Ford out of this and they were getting the fuck out of this fucked up place. 

“Stanley.” It was quiet, and the hand on his shoulder was tentative. He easily shook it off.

“Come on ya goddamn redneck!” He roared. “We’re getting him and we’re getting out!”

“Stanley, we c-can’t get to him and you know it. Something’s blockin’ us from this memory or dream. We need to go find another.” It  _ angered _ him, how calm the mechanic’s voice was, how--how  _ defeated _ . 

“No,  _ no _ , I gotta stop this--”

“You can’t.”

“I  _ gotta _ ! I can’t just stand here!” Stan screamed, tears streaming down his cheeks. He prayed prayed  _ prayed _ to god that this was dream, please let this be his brother’s nightmare and not his memory, Stan would never forgive himself if it was. “I can’t let  _ him _ go through this too!”

“ _ Stanley _ .” The grip on his hand was strong, it pulled him back; that and another hand on his shoulder forced him away from the terrible scene. Fiddleford was standing up ramrod straight, so brown eyes stared into pale blue. 

“ _ It’s not real. _ ” 

He squeezed his eyes shut, finally letting himself be pulled away. His shoulders shuddered. 

“Come on, come on, this way, all a’ you.” McGucket said gently--he had Mabel’s hand too, and she was leading Dipper. A floating portal appeared before them, leading out to the pine forest from before. Fiddleford let the kids go first, but he never let go of Stanley’s hand. When Fiddleford turned to guide the man through, Stan’s eyes were wide, and unseeing; Fiddleford knew it was because Stan was too focused  _ listening _ , listening to the broken sobs of his brother. The alien had moved off, satisfied with its...end of the trade, leaving Ford curled up on the dais, in the tattered remains of his clothes and the device he had been after--this much Fiddleford could see over Stan’s shoulder.

The mechanic tried to calm the panic and terror and his own clamoring heartbeat.

_ It isn’t real _ .

“Come on, Stan.” He tugged Stan through the portal as well. As soon as Stan had his feet planted in snow, the portal vanished. And as soon as Stan’s feet were planted he sank to his knees, hand pulling away from Fiddleford’s. He stared at the ground before him emptily. 

Ten years on the road, on his own with no help, it had led him down dark paths, some darker than others. Sometimes it had led him down lighter paths, only for him to suddenly be dragged into horrible  _ horrible _ nightmares. And to see it, as ripped out and displaced from its original context as it could possibly be, happening to his  _ brother _ , who never should have been touched by it...even if it was dream, Stan would never be able to forgive himself for just the mere  _ idea _ of that happening crossing Ford’s mind.

“It’s safe now, kids.” Fiddleford murmured. Immediately Mabel and Dipper ripped the headphones and blindfolds off. The stress showed in their eyes, and only increased when they saw Stan on the ground. They both ran to him; Stan pulled them close with no hesitation. Those times were gone now. They were in the past, and he was here, in the now, with the kids.

He never should have agreed to let them enter the mindscape.

Fiddleford stood off, watching quietly. It was a few moments of hushed silence as Stan calmed down, before the man glared up at the mechanic.

“What made you so qualified to see it, n’ not me?” His voice was flat. McGucket kept his eyes on the ground.

“Can’t break what’s already been broken.” He said. It was his mantra, his way of keeping himself going. When he was running through the forest, starving and terrified, afraid he was going to lose what little sanity he had regained, it’s what he repeated to himself. When he found scared townsfolk, beaten gnomes and lost Manotaurs and traumatized children, it’s what he told himself to keep calm, to stay strong for them.  _ Can’t break what’s already been broken _ .

When Stan didn’t respond, Fiddleford asked a question of his own.

“ ‘Too’. Ya said ‘I can’t let ‘ _ im _ go through this  _ too’ _ , right?”

“Yeah.” The man answered, voice still flat but eyes now pained and distant (Fiddleford knew that look, he knew it from his own eyes). “My brother’s been through enough, he didn’t need that, too.”

“That’s not what it was.”

Stan’s eyes focused back on the mechanic, and there was a challenging glint to them.

“No.”

McGucket knew better than to continue that line of inquiry. He backed off, literally even. In the brief silence, Dipper pulled away from Stan.

“We should keep going.” The boy said quietly. Whatever had happened to Ford, it sent Stan to his knees and seeing  _ that _ was more than enough to spook him. Spook him and Mabel both. But they still had an apocalypse to avert.

Stan wasn’t sure he even wanted to. He felt so drained, and exhausted, and  _ haunted _ . This had become a nightmare so fast. 

But this was Ford’s mind that had become a nightmare-scape. Stan wasn’t about to give in now. That didn’t stop some numb feeling making its home in his ribcage, pooling in him like rainwater. Slowly he pushed Mabel away, and rose to his feet. He was about to speak when Mabel shouted

“Look!” 

The other three turned on their heel in the direction she was pointing in. Distracted by everything else, they hadn’t noticed that there was another clearing not several yards behind them. And in the center of that clearing was the Mystery Shack.

_ On fire _ .

“It must be another dream or memory! Hurry!” Dipper yelled, bolting for the blaze, Mabel on his heels. Fiddleford scurried after them, and Stan followed too, but he lagged behind slightly. He already felt so numb...what hells awaited them now?

When they breached the clearing, snow turned to grass at their feet, and the fire roared high and bright before them, completely engulfing the shack. It bore none of its Mystery Shack regalia--it must have been before Ford had been lost, then. They were several yards away and the heat was  _ scorching _ as it radiated off of the inferno. The fire was almost too bright to look at.

And not ten feet away from them was Ford, thirty years younger and panting like he had just run a marathon. Before any of the four could say anything, he cried out brokenly.

“My God, what have I  _ done _ !?” He sprinted for the shack, “Fiddleford!  _ FIDDS! _ ” 

He was in the house before any of them could stop him, and as they stood agape, one by one Stan, Mabel and Dipper looked to Fiddleford. The man was frowning, bewildered and confused, listening as Ford continued to scream his name from inside the house. When he realized the others were staring, he shrugged helplessly.

“I don’t remember this.”

Dipper started for the fire, but Stan held him back. 

“No ya don’t. Mindscape or not, you’re not going in there.”

Stan began to head for the shack himself when suddenly the frantic screaming changed to manic laughter. Ford--and Stan never thought he’d use the term to describe his brother-- _ sauntered _ out of the shack, singed, smoking, grinning wildly and...eyes yellow. With slit pupils.

“ _ Burn in hell, redneck _ .” He spat. The reaction was immediate. Fiddleford began to holler and scream, hopping with agitation.

“That’s not what happened! That ain’t the truth that’s not what  _ happened _ !”

“I thought you didn’t remember this!” Stan cried.

“I--this was before that demon triangle!” Fiddleford yelled, punching the air angrily. “I know it! I  _ know  _ I know it! Stanford  _ saved _ me! I remember  _ that _ !” 

Ford, unaware of the screaming hillbilly nearby, gleefully skipped down the steps and back out into the show. Mid-skip he froze, and... _ glitched _ . Like a malfunction in a video tape, his  _ image _ shuddered and flashed, and suddenly he was where he was when they had first come upon him, panting and panicked.

“My God, what have I  _ done _ !?” He cried, just as broken as before. He bolted for the shack. “Fiddleford!  _ FIDDS! _ ”

“It’s repeating!” Dipper gasped. “This whole memory or dream or whatever...it’s on loop!” 

“Are all of them on loop like this? If we had waited in that forest instead of chasing after the tornado...” Mabel wondered. “...maybe it would have looped and we could have gotten Grunkle Ford then.”

When Ford reappeared on the porch laughing, Dipper ran in front of him, in plain sight. There was no way they could be missed this time.

“Great Uncle Ford, you  _ have  _ to snap out of this! It’s not real!” He waved his arms wildly. Ford skipped down the steps and  _ through _ Dipper. The boy shuddered and gasped at the odd feeling--he couldn’t tell if it was  _ him _ who had become briefly intangible or Ford.

Ford couldn’t hear, see, or even feel them. Dipper turned to look after his great uncle.

“Why can’t we interact with him?” He ran his hands through his hair frustratedly. “I was able to interact with Stan in his mindscape!” 

As the memory looped and Ford once more yelled and ran for the shack, running through Dipper as if he was nothing but air, a grim look came to the boy’s features.

“Bill must be doing something to Ford’s head.” He said to the others. “What I saw on the spaceship was definitely real--Bill was there for a second, and he’s here--and he must have been there when Ford was taken by the cyclone! That  _ has _ to be why we can’t--”

Dipper cut off, eyes widening. He glanced over his shoulder at the burning shack, and back to where he was facing. How had they not noticed?

In a perfect mirror to the shack on fire was  _ another _ shack. This one wasn’t on fire, thankfully, but it certainly seemed more worn, a little dilapidated, even. And the snow had reappeared--in fact, it seemed that it was  _ snowing _ , just around the shack itself, and the whole place seemed grayer, more sullen. And a rather ragged man was walking up to the front door. He had a mullet.

And his voice was recognized instantly.

“You haven’t seen your brother in over ten years.” The man sighed nervously. “It’s okay. He’s family. He won’t bite.”

“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel gasped, running up to the man. “This was  _ you _ ?”

The others followed behind her, but again Stan lagged behind. Dread was building in his stomach.

“I knew you were down on your luck,” Dipper murmured, “But I didn’t realize it was this bad.”

“That’s because I didn’t want you to.” Stan grumbled, watching as his younger self knocked on the door. After a moment an incredibly disheveled Ford slammed it open, crossbow primed and aiming at Stan.

“Who is it?!” The man yelled wildly, eyes wide and crazed. “Have you come to steal my eyes!?” 

Everyone one flinched at the hysteria in the man’s voice--even young Stan.

“Well, I can always count on you for a warm welcome.” He said bitterly. Ford paused, blinking, and his crossbow didn’t lower. Real Stan’s brow furrowed. Thirty years may have made the memory a little foggy but Stan was pretty sure Ford relaxed (somewhat) after that.

Ford’s face split into a grin (and it looked as disturbing as that sounded). And when he blinked again his eyes were yellow. Stan’s stomach dropped.

“You sure can, brother!” Ford laughed. And fired the crossbow  _ point blank _ into Stanley’s face.

Dipper and Mabel shrieked in terror as bone cracked and blood spattered and young Stanley crumpled to the ground.

“Kids!” Fiddleford launched for them, pulling them close and under his beard to block their view. Both curled into him, still crying out.

Stan watched himself fall, horror making him unable to move.

“That’s not what...he would never…” Was all he could choke out of his own throat. He watched as Ford stopped laughing, eyes returning to normal. The crossbow slipped from his hands.

“Stanley?” The man began to shake. “Stanley!” He fell to his knees, dragging himself to Stan’s side. “ _ Stanley _ !  _ No! No no, oh god, Stanley! _ ” He screamed, pulling Stanley into his arms. “Stanley,  _ please _ , don’t go, don’t go, oh  _ god _ , wake up,  _ please wake up _ !” His voice was cracking as he sobbed and screamed uncontrollably. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry Stanley, please, I didn’t mean it,  _ I didn’t mean it _ !”

He cradled Stanley in his arms, rocking back and forth as he descended into hysteric grief. Stanley’s eyes stared sightlessly into the sky, a trail of blood trickling down past the corner of his eye like a single tear. Stan didn’t so much as feel his legs give out as watch the image before him come closer. 

“Ford,” he said weakly. His heart twisted as he watched his brother scream like a wild animal. “Ford, it’s not real.”

Of course, it had no effect. But Stan couldn’t stop.

“Ford, please,” He reached out to Ford’s shoulder--his hand phased right through but he kept on trying. “It’s not real. Sixer, come on. I’m right here. P-please. You didn’t--Ford you d-didn’t do it. I’m a--alive,” His breath hitched. “I’m right here, Ford. Ford I know you’d n-never do this, snap out of it, please.”

Suddenly the bodies before him glitched, shuddering and vanishing. Suddenly Stan was watching himself, alive again, walk up to the front door of the shack.

“You haven’t seen your brother in over ten years. It’s okay. He’s family. He won’t bite.”

“ _ Stanley _ .” Fiddleford hissed, eyes wide in panic. The children were still clinging to him--in fact, he seemed to be carrying both of them. Stan could hear them sobbing. “It’s startin’ over. We gotta get out o’ here. We have ta get  _ them _ outta here.”

Fiddleford didn’t even wait to see if Stan was listening: he turned on his heel and ran for the trees at the other end of the clearing. 

“Have you come to steal my eyes!?”

Fiddleford was right. Stan forced himself to his feet, forced his feet to move, forced himself not to look back. It didn’t matter, the firing of the crossbow, the crunch of his own bones, his brother’s  _ screams _ , it nearly sent him to his knees again as he cried out through gritted teeth.

_ It’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real. _

He found the others deep in the pine forest (this seemed to be the pine forest in summer--the weather was warm and there was no snow on the ground to be seen). Fiddleford was sitting on the ground, holding Dipper and Mabel close as they shook and cried. As soon as they heard Stan though, they let go and ran for him. 

“Grunkle Stan!”

He sank to his knees to meet them.

“Kids.” He whispered, holding them close. Dipper buried himself into Stan’s jacket, shuddering violently as he tried to hold back his sobs. Mabel refused to let herself be held close--she pushed back so she could see Stan. Tears streamed down her face. She reached out with shaking hands to touch his face (tears were streaming down that too).

“It’s okay, sweetie, it wasn’t real, I’m right here.” He reassured her. Her hands rubbed through his stubble again and again, like she just had to keep making sure he was real, that he was real and okay. “I’m alive. I’m okay.”

God, he couldn’t stand to see Mabel look so devastated. He’d do anything to stop her crying. 

“Hey, hey,” He reached up to cup the back of her head and gently bumped their foreheads together. “Bonk. See? It’s okay. Bonk bonk. Totally solid. Thick as a brick.” 

Mabel didn’t let him pull back a fourth time, instead holding his head still to keep the contact constant.

“Grunkle Stan…” She whispered. She threw her arms around his neck and buried her face into his shoulder. At the very least, however, she had stopped crying, although she still breathed in hiccups. 

“Mabel, Dipper, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry you had to see that, I never should have let you guys come in here. I promise I’m not going anywhere. Not anytime soon.” Stan gritted.

He jumped a little as he felt a thin hand fist into his jacket shoulder. McGucket had quietly crept up to his right, and was now curled up on the ground next to him; his other hand was fisted in his sweater, and he was shaking just as badly as the kids. He didn’t look at Stan, wide eyes fixed on the ground before him, but his grip on Stan was as tight as iron. He had been just as shaken by what he had seen as the rest of them.

Stan looked up at the sky. It was gray, but reflected brown with the setting sun. Again that numb feeling circled in his gut, making him feel nothing but fatigue and defeat. But he still couldn’t give up yet.

“I’m going to kill that corn chip myself.” He muttered darkly. Dipper shifted in his hold, and moved away, sniffing.

“He’s the one behind all this.” His voice was weak, but he nodded in agreement. “McGucket was right. Bill’s doing something to Ford’s memories. He’s changing them...he’s…”

“He’s making them so Ford does bad things, or bad things happen to him.” Mabel picked up where her brother trailed off.

“He’s being tortured.” McGucket said quietly. “It’s sad--saddystick-- _ darnit _ it’s just plain c-cruel torture.”

“But  _ why _ ?” Mabel jumped out of Stan’s arms, waving her arms around in frustration. Her voice was still very wet. “He turned Grunkle Ford to gold, he had him out of the way as his own personal  _ trophy _ . Why would he need to do this!?”

“Revenge, maybe?” Dipper suggested, “Ford hid the journals and was going to shut down the portal when he got sucked into it. That kept Bill out for thirty years. And ever since he got back he’s been trying his hardest to keep Bill from coming back. Bill might want payback for that.”

"But didn't you say Ford's got a metal plate in his head or something to keep Bill out!" Mabel argued desperately. "He shouldn't even be in here!"

"Well...I don't think Bill's  _actually_ in here. He would have stopped us by now if he was." Dipper said. "I don't think he can physically enter Ford's mind or possess him, but--well, maybe it's like what you and I guessed about the mindscape spell: Ford's gold, and that might be away to bypass the metal plate, but only minimally. Bill can manipulate, but not actually take over--like we can produce things, but can't affect any of what we see."

"So maybe he's lashin' out 'cause he can't get what he wants." McGucket hummed.

“That thing’s an evil monster.” Stan snarled, anger directed at the demon in question.

“Wait…” Dipper tapped his chin. “Monster...can't get what he wants...before Bill turned Ford to gold, he offered for Ford to join him. He said that he’d ‘fit right in with his freaks’. He refused--but look at how all of Ford’s memories are splayed out.” He gestured to the forest around them. “They’re all in the open and on display, and  _ loud _ . None of these are the real Ford--they’re just Bill’s manipulations of Ford’s memories! He’s  _ making _ Ford watch his own memories, watch himself be monstrous or have monstrous things happen to him. What if Bill’s trying to convince Ford that he  _ is _ a monster, that he really is one of Bill’s ‘freaks’?”

“Oh my gosh.” Mabel breathed, hands flying to her mouth.

“So Bill’s trying to crack him.” Stan growled. “Torture him until he breaks and switches sides. _Momzer_ .” 

“We  _ have _ to save him!” Mabel cried. “But if all of these are fake, how are we going to find the  _ real _ Grunkle Ford?”

“If Bill’s making Ford watch everything, he might be trapped on higher ground. Aerial view, so to speak. Either that or he’s trying to hide away from it all in a cave or something--I don’t know, that’s what I would do.” Stan said. He paused for a moment, overtaken by the idea of being in a situation like this. Where all of his mistakes were on display, all his good deeds twisted into evil ones, all his good luck moments turned bad. He shuddered.

“We need to get out of this forest.” He continued, setting Dipper down and rising to his feet (McGucket rose with him, taking a moment to actually let go of Stan). “It’s too dense to see anything and we need to get our bearings.”

Unfortunately, Stan was right--the forest was dense. It was even too dense to make a car drive through or even a horse--nothing could navigate through it quickly. They couldn’t even destroy it (they tried to imagine the trees into vanishing, in multiple different ways, but it had no effect at all). All they could do was walk through it, in the direction of the setting sun. Several times they came across different Mystery Shacks, although Stan made sure to give them a wide berth; he didn’t want to get dragged into any more horrible memories.

That didn’t mean they didn’t come across any. One time Ford, beaten and battered within an inch of his life, staggered past them--through them actually--and collapsed, coughing blood. As soon as Stan had seen him, he ordered the kids to close their eyes. Another time some sort of blazing comet sailed over their heads and crashed through the trees; Ford’s screams could be heard. They didn’t stop, but Dipper held on to Stan’s hand and refused to let go (not that Stan asked him to). A third time they came across a small clearing, most of it consisting of the portal room in the Shack’s basement, with the roof shaved off so the events inside could be seen. It was Stan and Ford’s fight, right before Ford had been lost; Ford kicked Stanley into the fire-hot engraving on the side of a console. Except this time he did it  _ repeatedly _ , laughing as Stanley screamed in agony. 

Stan made the kids wear headphones after that--the same headsets Fiddleford had made for them before, so all four could still talk but Mabel and Dipper didn’t have to hear anything. Stan would have blindfolded them too if they didn’t have to see their way through the forest; at least they knew to look away or close their eyes if they saw anything bad. Stan almost demanded they leave the mindscape after coming across a fucking rotting  _ corpse _ , but they protested so vehemently he caved. They wanted to make sure Ford was okay.

McGucket kept eerily quiet. A few times he lingered, drawing close to one of the memory shacks before being called back by Stan. Stan had a feeling it was because a lot of the memories they were coming across were ones Fiddleford used to remember himself. He knew a few memories had Fiddleford in them--he could hear the mechanic’s voice sometimes as they passed. Whether or not the mechanic remembered them now, he didn’t say, and no one asked, but Stan imagined it was hard for the man. Fiddleford knew that everything they saw was manipulated by Bill, but determining where reality ended and manipulation began had to be a stress on the mechanic’s nerves.

Time was subjective in the mindscape--moreover, it was nonexistent. The sun never fully disappeared, stuck mid-sunset. Stan was sure they had been wandering for at least an hour, but there was no way to know for sure. And God knew how quickly or slowly time was passing outside of it. Thankfully he never seemed to get tired, or maybe he just never allowed himself to feel exhausted. Physically exhausted, at least. They had all been emotionally drained ages ago. 

When they finally,  _ finally _ reached the edge of the forest, it was a relief. The sun began to break through the branches more and more, and in the distance they could see where the trees stopped abruptly. They ran for it, for open air and open space. Bursting out of the trees was like resurfacing from the depths of the ocean. Stan even took gulping breaths of air, relishing the comforting old smell of sea brine and sand and--

Glass Shard Beach. It was Glass Shard Beach, right down to the glass shards in the sand and the junk piles strewn up and down the sand. The beach itself stretched on for was seemed like miles, and it curved, like a cove, despite never having been a cove. It was facing the wrong direction too--it faced west and the sunset--or maybe they had been wrong this whole time and it was the sunrise. 

“Woah, that's a lot of pawnshops.” Dipper commented. Stan tore his eyes away from the beach and to his right. A boardwalk stretched the entire length of the beach, and lining the boardwalk was replica after replica of Pine’s Pawns. Stan felt his gut clench.

Behind the pawnshops more buildings stretched. Some looked like city buildings--some Stan even recognized from Atlantic City and--hell,  _ Vegas _ ? In the distance on a small hill he was fairly certain was Backupsmore. Other buildings, though, didn't look human at all. Impossible spires in impossible colors twisted high in the air--others straight up defied gravity, bending in angles and tilting in ways that couldn't be stable. As he examined the view he watched one brown seemingly brick building that zig-zagged (literally) towards the sky begin to collapse, exploding as it did. Stan internally thanked Dipper for somehow managing to turn the ‘volume’ of the mindscape down, so they didn't have to hear that chaos.

“You said we’re looking for high ground, right? How about up there?” Dipper pointed straight ahead. At the far far end of the beach and the boardwalk and  _ everything _ , massive cliffs rose up out of the ground. They stretched high over everything else, even the tallest skyscrapers. If one stood at the edge, they could see every part of the mindscape below. 

“Yep, that’s higher ground alright. If he’s not up there, it’s at least a good place to start.” Stan squinted. The cliff seemed to be covered in some sort of tall grass. If he stared really long, he almost could convince himself he could see movement.

“Well come on, what are we waiting for!?” Mabel cried, starting to run; Stan caught her by the collar.

“Ah ah ah! We’re waiting for a  _ ride _ .” He smirked, snapping his fingers. Like a mirage the El Diablo shimmered into reality (or imagination? hm), glistening red and in peak condition. The kids cheered and immediately ran for it, and he watched after them, smile forced.

Let them think it was a faster way to get around--not that it wasn’t, but Stan eyed the long wall of Pine’s Pawns. Whatever Bill had done to  _ these _ memories, Stan didn’t want to see, and he didn’t want the kids to see either. They had all seen enough.

When he looked back to the car, he jumped.

“Mabel, what the heck!” Mabel had decided to plaster the car with stickers, all of them brightly colored and saying messages like “Don’t worry be happy!” and “Make love not tears!” and “Waffles!”. Some of them were happy faces. Some were cute animals. Mabel patted down a giant smiling cat face. When she looked at Stan, his damn heart near broke. Her smile was so stressed, and now that Stan was looking, he could see her hands trembling.

“I’m making sure the Stan-mobile looks as positive and happy as possible! Just in case the real Ford is down here somewhere. If he sees it he’ll know it’s us coming to rescue him!” She explained. Even her voice sounded jittery.

Stan grinned at her.

“That’s a great idea, kid!” He walked up to her and ruffled her hair, and she giggled. “Just, ya know, never do that in real life. Please.”

He herded her into the car--Dipper was already in the backseat and McGucket was sitting shotgun. Stan rested a hand on the be-stickered roof of the car for a moment. If they didn’t find Ford soon, and he meant  _ soon _ , the kids couldn’t stay here anymore. It wasn’t safe for them in here, no matter how many times they said they were handling it.

They took off at high speeds. Stan raced down the boardwalk as fast as he could go, speed be damned because hey, no speed limit in the mindscape. Although out of instinct he checked to rearview mirror to see if the kids had their seatbelts on (they did, which was a comfort). And instinct also had him  _ slamming  _ the brakes when a figure flew in front of the car. 

“ _ AAAAHHHHH!” _ All four shrieked. Stan didn’t cut the wheel, not wanting to risk anything worse happening to them. They rammed into the figure, but it phased right through the entire vehicle. When the car had finally skidded to a halt, all four were gasping and shaking.

“...Sorry.” Stan managed. “It’s hard to remember we can’t affect anything here.”

“I never thought I’d appreciate seatbelt safety more.” Dipper muttered. Mabel nodded in agreement, eyes wide. 

“Are you two okay?” Stan asked. When they nodded, he turned to Fiddleford. “What about you, McGucket?”

McGucket wasn’t even facing forward. He was looking out the window (which Stan just realized now was open) down an alley between two Pine’s Pawns. 

“Oh Ford…” The mechanic murmured brokenly. Over his shoulder, Stan could see a bunch of older high school boys beating and kicking a younger boy on the ground--Ford. All the boys were hooting and laughing.

“Kick the kike!” They chanted. “Kick the kike! Kick the kike! Kick the kike!”

Rage curled in Stan’s stomach, as well as frustration. Without another glance he slammed the gas pedal to the car floor. The car squealed and rocked for a moment before jumping forward, making the other three passengers jump. 

“Roll up the window.” Stan ordered darkly. McGucket quickly complied.

“Stanley, I’m so--”

“I was there that day. We were both in that alley when those bozos tried to take us on. We fought them off together.” Stan gritted, glaring at the boardwalk ahead, the memory fresh in his mind. “That guy with the greasy pompadour? I knocked four of his teeth out. I broke the nose of the blonde. Ford gave the guy with the sunglasses  _ two _ black eyes. I’m pretty sure I smashed that guy who smelled like weed’s balls to bits. Ford frickin’ knocked Mr. Red Leather Jacket out by smashing his head into the brick wall. We--”

“Stan.” Fiddleford’s quiet utterance made him snap his mouth shut. He had been rambling. 

“Look, I’m just saying--I never let Ford face anything like that on his own, not if I could help it.” Stan snapped, hands twisting on the steering wheel. Fiddleford sighed.

“I...Me too. I...I’ve been remembler--rember--rememberin’ and...I suppose there’s a memory on loop somewhere out there of him bein’ beat up by a bunch o’ frat boys, when really I was there, an’ I helped him get away.” He said. His hands were twisting into his sweater much like Stan’s were twisting on the steering wheel. 

They drove on in silence after that. The boardwalk was a lot longer than it had initially appeared to be, it hardly felt like they were getting any closer to the cliffs. Stan kept the gas pedal on the floor.

It was a good twenty minutes (minimum) when Mabel suddenly cried out.

“Grunkle Stan! Stop, I think I found him!”

As much as he would have liked to slam on the brakes, even in the mindscape he was worried about damaging the car (and the people inside it). He braked slowly, until they were at a speed where he felt comfortable braking more violently. When the car had come to a complete halt:

“It’s all the way back there!” Mabel pointed out the rear-window. Stan looked into the rear-view mirror: in the distance there seemed to be a man running about a mound of...something...quite frantically.

“Are you sure it’s not a memory?” He asked. Mabel nodded.

“He looked really old, like he does now!” 

“Alright, we’ll give it a shot.” Stan turned the car around and cruised to where Mabel directed him. 

“Cross your fingers.” He muttered as he parked. He already didn’t like where they were. When he got out of the car, he was immediately facing a younger version of himself, clutching a small duffel bag and staring dismally up at the window to his and Ford’s old bedroom. 

“High six?” Young Stanley asked weakly. Ford glowered down at him, and after the telltale flash of yellow in his eyes, the boy began to cackle.

“High six!? God, you are  _ pathetic _ !” He snarled down at his brother. “You heard Dad,  _ shlemeil _ . Go build a little fortune of your own--if you even can, ha!”

Stan squeezed his eyes shut and fought the urge to slump. He fucking  _ hated  _ this.

Small fingers weaved in between his own.

“He didn’t really say that, did he?” Dipper asked nervously. Stan ground his teeth together as Ford continued to hurl insults at his younger self, who was crying audibly.

“No, no he didn’t.” Stan said. “He just...turned his back on me. He couldn’t even speak to me anymore.” 

Mabel was suddenly at his other side, tugging on his sleeve.

“Come on! It’s him, it’s the real Grunkle Ford!” She was grinning. Stan squinted to where she was pointing. He couldn’t make out more than shadows against the setting (or rising) sun. Nonetheless he let Mabel drag him around the car and to the sand. He noticed Fiddleford about to step onto the beach behind him and quickly snapped his fingers: shoes appeared on man’s feet, much to his surprise.

“AH! AHHH! What’s on my feet! What are they!?” The man hopped around erratically.

“Relax, McGucket, they’re just shoes. I’m not sure how pain works in this place, and Glass Shard Beach ain’t named for its stunning view.” Stan huffed, rolling his eyes. He let the hillbilly sort out his new feet-coverings on his own. 

As they approached the shadows, they blocked the sun and came into view. Stan gasped.

It was the Stan O’ War--the original one, the one they had found on the beach when they were kids. And it was Ford-- _ present _ Ford, the one with gray hair and tired eyes and that weird red sweater. Mabel was right: this  _ was _ the real Ford. This wasn’t a memory because there was no way Ford could have been repairing the Stan O’ War at any point since his return.

Stan frowned as he repeated the phrase in his head.  _ Repairing the Stan O’ War? _ Ford was scrambling around the shambles of the boat, nailing things into place and roping things down, materializing whatever he needed in his hands. He worked non-stop, running from problem to problem and fixing it as fast as possible. Yet despite this, the Stan O’ War seemed to be eternally splintering. It was falling apart as fast as Ford was putting it back together. And the man was talking to himself desperately. 

“Come on, come on, just stay together, please, just need to fix this, fix it and we can sail away, get on the boat and sail off and go away and then it’ll be quiet, quiet and gone, please, I just want to go away…”

A gaping hole cracked open in the hull of the ship. Ford heard it and leaped off of the boat, snarling in frustration.

Mabel stepped forward first.

“Grunkle Ford?”

The man practically jumped out of his shoes. He whirled to face them all, eyes wide with terror. 

“No…” He hissed. “ _ No! _ ”

“Grunkle Ford, it’s us!” Dipper tried next. Ford leapt away from them, anger mixing with his fear.

“What are you doing here? Gay avek!  _ Get out _ .” 

“We’re here to rescue y--”

“ _ I said get out!” _ The man cried, and a like a wave wind burst out from the man, rippling through the air and bowling them all over. By the time they recovered, he was gone. And without him there, the Stan O’ War fell apart completely.

“What? No!” Mabel yelled as she climbed to her feet. “That was him! Why’d he leave!?”

“Maybe he thought we were Bill.” Dipper suggested with a defeated shrug.

“Uh, I know bein’ as elderly as I am my hearin’ might not be all that, but didn’t his voice change just then?” Fiddleford asked, brow furrowed. Stan nodded.

“Yeah, he...he sounded different.” His mouth twisted. “He...sounded like a kid right before he vanished.”

“Why would his voice go like that? Why would he run away from us?” Dipper asked.

“Whatever the reason, it can’t be good. If all of this has been going on the whole time Ford’s been turned to gold, it’ll be a miracle if my brother’s even sane anymore.” Stan sighed, looking back towards their original destination. “I guess we’re back to square one. The cliffs.”

They continued driving in tepid silence. Mabel and Dipper didn’t speak, afraid to even address the idea that Ford might not be... _ Ford _ , anymore. McGucket mumbled to himself endlessly as he tugged at loose threads in his sweater. It was mostly numbers, what the man was speaking in, some sort of code, although it always ended in a short phrase like “use the house number” or “take the solar system” or “have my eyes”. And then he’d start over with some sort of rhyme that Stan never could catch. He thought he heard “New Jersey” a few times.

Stan himself felt his anger at Bill become double-faceted. Yeah, he was infuriated with the dream demon for hurting his brother like this, and Stan swore to himself over and over again that he’d kill the asshole himself. But...to an extent, he was  _ pissed _ at Ford. Okay, yeah, restarting the portal was what created a rift that allowed this apocalypse to happen. But Stan only  _ knew _ that after Dipper had explained it all to him and Mabel. His brother had not only gone back on his promise to keep his dangerous shit away from the kids, he  _ gave _ dangerous shit to the kids! He trusted a fucking twelve-year old with a ticking time bomb! And that stung to all hell, because Ford had trusted a kid over his own brother. If Stan had known about the rift, he would have helped his brother contain it. If Ford had  _ trusted _ him, they wouldn’t be in this mess. But no. No trust. Not even a goddamn ‘thank you’. And now here Stan was despite all that, saving his brother  _ again _ . And what had Ford said when they found him?

_ I said get out! _

His brother was not a monster, he would fight anyone who dared claim that. But fuck if Ford wasn’t an ungrateful jerk. 

Soon the boardwalk came to an end, and Stan was forced to stop the car. Another forest of pine trees stretched between them and the cliff. And the cliff stretched high up beyond that. Stan leaned forward to gaze up at it through the windshield.

“I did not think this through. How the heck are we gonna get up there?” He said. 

“Ah, here, I think I may be of some assistance.” McGucket smiled. He squeezed his eyes shut and held his hands out. The Stan-mobile began to buckle and shudder violently, and the Pines cried out with concern. Stan jumped and let go of the steering wheel as it twisted and contorted into a different shape. New gauges appeared on the dashboard. There was the screech of metal contorting and grinding, and finally the car stilled.

“That should work.” Fiddleford opened his eyes and adjusted his glasses, surveying his handiwork.

“Woah! Plane-car!” Mabel cried, smile wide. Indeed, McGucket had transformed the car into some kind of plane-car hybrid. Large metal wings stretched out from the sides of it. Dipper peered out the rear windshield and found rocket boosters at car’s bumper.  _ Giant _ ones.

“Holy crap, McGucket.” Stan breathed, looking at the new controls in his car. “This is cool but I don’t even know how to fly a plane, let alone a car.”

“Ah, that’s okay! It should function like a regular car, just with a little extra in the steerin’ wheel so you can direct it up an’ down an’ some control functions for the wings for drag. An’ enough horsepower to give it the lift.” McGucket explained, grinning. Stan swallowed.

“Okay. Uh, alright. We can try this. And for the record,  _ you’re _ not allowed to do this in real life either.” Tentatively he started the car. The engine  _ roared _ like he’d never heard them roar before. It sounded like they were in the belly of some terrible beast. He reversed a little, careful not to press down too hard on the pedal for fear of activating the rockets on the back of his car. 

“Hold on tight, gang!” He cried, slamming the gas pedal. The car launched forward, and after accelerating for a few seconds McGucket yelled for Stan to start pulling up. Stan did and--they really did lift off! The car soared into the sky, and Stan turned to avoid crashing into the cliff itself. 

“Moses, Fiddleford!” Was all Stan could manage, heartbeat slamming in his ribcage. For all he was over his fear of heights, he was decidedly  _ not _ over his fear of crashing to a fiery death.

“Don’t worry! Yer doin’ fine!” The hillbilly hooted. “Just pull up grad’ally!” 

“You know how to fly planes?” Stan asked, even as he listened. He glanced in the rearview mirror. Dipper was gazing out the window at the mindscape below; Mabel was grinning...but her eyes were squeezed shut and she was gripping Dipper’s hand for dear life. Ah, right, the day he got over his fear, she gained hers.  _ At least this won’t be for long _ , Stan thought. Right now they were pulling up in the opposite direction of the cliff, but once they were high enough Stan would turn the car around and head towards the cliff.

“Yep! Used to fly the family crop-duster back on the farm when I was a youngin’!” McGucket reassured him. “I mean, sure I don’t remember  _ exactly _ how to fly, but I remember doin’ it.”

Stan was not reassured.

Dipper called out when they were high enough to be over the cliff. Stan slowly turned the car around. As the cliff came into view his eyes widened. It was a gray wheatfield, scarred by fire, although no fire blazed now. He couldn’t make out some of the structures he saw, but in the center of a few of them was a bright white dome. A little patch of void in Ford’s mindscape.

“Do think Grunkle Ford’s in there?” Dipper asked.

“Hopefully.” Fiddleford answered. Stan only set his jaw as he began the car’s descent. Fiddleford haphazardly guided him through the process, but by no means was it easy, and in the end Stan thanked his lucky stars they were all wearing their seatbelts. The car finally rolled to a stop a short distance to the left of the dome. 

Stan climbed out of the car and immediately shuddered. It was unbelievably foggy up here. Gentle wind carried only a musty smell, but the air also  _ buzzed _ with some kind of static. It made the hairs on all their necks stand up. And the structures were recognizable now. On the far side of the white dome was another Stan O’ War. It was dilapidated, and split in half; the other half nowhere to be seen. A little ways away from that was the portal, only half-constructed and jutting out of the ground. And right between the group and the dome was...a swing set. Stan frowned.

“Oh, hey! Swings!” Mabel started for it. “There was a set like this in your mind Grunkle Stan, except one of the swings in yours was broke--”

“Don’t touch it!” Stan snapped, stopping her in her tracks. He walked past the swing set, refusing to focus on it. He let the others follow behind him. His frown only deepened: the closer they got to the dome, the stronger the static feeling in the air became. Finally he stopped only a few feet away from the dome. The electricity was powerful enough to make him wary. The rest of the group stopped next to him.

“Ugh, I feel all weird.” Mabel groaned, rubbing her arms. After she gazed at her hands for a moment, she turned and smacked Dipper’s arm. The  _ snap _ of electricity was audible and Dipper shrieked.

“Heheh. Static.”

“Ow! Not funny!” Dipper yelled at his sister. She giggled a little nonetheless. Dipper rolled his eyes. 

“All this static electricity seems to be coming from the dome…” He continued. “It must be a defense mechanism against Bill and the memories. If the electricity’s this bad, will it be safe to even touch that thing?”

“Well, only one way to find out!” McGucket said cheerily. He hopped up to the edge of the dome, beard now frizzing out in all directions.

“Fiddleford, wait!” Stan reached out to the mechanic worriedly. “Ya might get hurt!”

“Psh!” The man scoffed. “It’s the mindscape, can’t hurt that bad. ‘Sides, can’t break what’s already been broken!”

Before Stan could stop him the man pressed his hands to the dome. They sank in and he jerked straight, shuddering as small bolts of electricity traveled over his skin. He let out a high pitched “oooooooooooh”. He turned to the group, grinning widely and eyes a little unseeing as he continued to shake.

“It’s a lil’ tingly!” His voice warbled. “But ya can pass through!”

With that he pressed forward and vanished inside the dome. The other three approached more slowly.

“I dunno, maybe we can make non-conductive suits for us to wear--- _ AAH _ !” Mabel shoved Dipper in before he could waffle any longer. She jumped in after him, and Stan jumped in after her.

It felt like one of those electric prank buzzers, except all over his body. It definitely wasn’t pleasant, but at least it was brief. 

Stan blinked his eyes open. 

“Woah.”

They all were standing in white void. Complete white void. It made up everything, the ceiling to the walls to the floor. Well, what could be theorized to be a ceiling and walls. At least there  _ was _ a floor. Other than that, it was impossible to tell where the voidspace began and ended.

“It’s like the Matrix.” Dipper breathed. Suddenly there was a tugging on his shoulder.

“Look!” Mabel gasped, pointing. In the distance was a little speck--a little ball, it seemed. It rocked back and forth. 

She took off for it, leaving the others no choice but to follow. Although Stan stopped Fiddleford briefly.

“Hey, McGucket.” He made sure the mechanic was looking him in the eye. “I don’t like you sayin’ what you said.”

“Huh?”

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose and laid a hand on Fiddleford’s shoulder. 

“I don’t like it.” He repeated exasperatedly. “When ya say you’re broken. You’re not broken, and even if you were you shouldn’t use it as an excuse to rush into danger like that, alright?”

“Oh I don’t mind--”

“ _I_ _do_. Just...you’re not broken, okay?” Stan insisted. “You’re stronger than most, don’t say you’re broken. ‘Cause you ain’t.”

Stan let him go and walked off without another word, leaving the mechanic staring curiously after him.

The men were able to catch up to the kids easily, only because they had stopped feet short of the little ball. 

“ _ Is _ it Grunkle Ford?” Mabel whispered to Dipper. Stan’s eyes widened as he recognized the small jacket. Dark brown, fleece wool collar and cuffs, light brown elbow patches.

“Kine-ahora.” He said under his breath, hands clenching into fists. Then, louder: “Ford…”

“Ford’s n-not here.” A little voice whimpered from inside the jacket. It sniffed loudly. “He’s in Jacket City.”

Stan slumped with a pained sigh as the kids gasped. Mabel’s hands flew to cover her mouth. Dipper shared a worried look with her before approaching tentatively, reaching out to the jacket.

“Great Uncle For--”

“Don’t touch me!” The ball jerked away. “Go away!”

“It’s...it’s no use.” Stan said, childhood memories stinging as they resurfaced. “He shut himself away for hours like this when we were little. Sometimes even I couldn’t get him out. It was something only Ma could do.”

“Then how do we--” Dipper started to ask, but Mabel pressed a finger to his lips, shaking her head.

Slowly she walked over to stand beside little Ford. Instead of reaching out to him, she simply sat beside him, close, but not too close. She pulled her arms out of her sweater sleeves, tugged the collar up over her head, and tucked her legs in. Now a little sweater ball was next to the jacket ball.

“Hey there.” She said gently, voice slightly muffled from her sweater. “My name is Mabel. I come from a small place called Sweater Town. But...it’s pretty lonely here. Is it lonely in Jacket City?”

The other three watched, eyes wide. Stan opened his mouth to speak, but Dipper hushed him. This might actually work.

After an almost unbearable minute of silence and quiet sniffling and crying from the jacket, it spoke.

“Y-y-yes…” It managed shakily. Mabel inched a tad bit closer.

“Jacket City sounds pretty big compared to Sweater Town. Do you think I could join you there?”

This pause stretched on longer than the last, but Mabel waited patiently. Finally the jacket shifted.

“Yeah.”

It wriggled close to Mabel and threw the jacket around her, covering them both. Slowly, Mabel peeked out over the edge of her collar. She couldn’t see too well in the shadow of the jacket, but she could see enough to break her heart.

This little boy was a  _ mess _ . His eyes were red and puffy from crying so much--heck, he’d cried so much his glasses were splattered with tears. Tears also streaked down the boy’s freckled cheeks, and snot dripped down from his nose too. And he was far from finished; his shoulders still shook as he sniffed and tears still fell.

Mabel put her arms back in her sleeves and, slowly, trying not to spook him, she wrapped her arms around the boy’s shoulders. He jumped a little, but let her hug him in the end. Tiny hands fisted in her sweater as he began to sob into her shoulder. Mabel stroked his dark hair gently.

“There there,” She cooed. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m right here, we’re right here.”

“W-w-why are you bein’ s-so n-n-nice to me?” The boy stammered. Mabel tilted her head.

“Huh? Why wouldn’t I be?”

The boy pulled away from her then, the action knocking the jacket down over his shoulders. He kept it wrapped tight around him, with the collar high to hide most of his face, but other than that young Stanford Pines had come out of his shell. Or, jacket. Fiddleford whimpered sympathetically and Stan grimaced at the terrible mess his brother was in. Something was beginning to twist uncomfortably in Stan’s gut.

“B-because I hurt everybody!” Ford protested, hiccuping. “I thought I was bein’ smart and nice b-but--but I was just being dumb and mean!”

He looked out at the group, guilty and sad. His eyes met only briefly with Stan’s before his gaze dropped to the ground. 

“I’m just bad. You should all just leave me here…”

Fiddleford had heard enough. He came forward and knelt beside the boy, resting a hand on his shoulder. Ford flinched at the touch but didn’t fight it.

“Now now, don’t talk like that none.” The mechanic said softly. “Ya don't deserve to be left behind just because of yer mistakes.”

Ford gazed up at the man, eyes brimming with fresh tears.

“B-but I hurt you s-so much! I hurt you s-so m-m-much Fidds...”

“Yes, yes ya did.” Fiddleford allowed, nodding. “But I hurt myself a lot too. We both made mistakes, an' if I can forgive myself for mine then I should forgive ya fer yer's too, right?”

Ford wrenched away from him, pulling the jacket up higher around him and hiding just a little bit more.

“I don’t deserve that!” He snapped. Dipper shook his head, stepping forward now.

“F--Grunkle Ford, I…I think you do. Ever since I met you, all you've tried to do is fix everything.” He said. 

“B-but I made it all worse!” Ford cried. “I couldn't tell the truth, and I pushed you away f-from Mabel when I shouldn't h-have, I tried to m-m-make you mean like m-me…”

“Maybe you did.” Dipper shrugged. “But it didn't work, did it? Great Uncle Ford, I saw your thoughts. All you wanted to do was fix your mistakes. You've done nothing but try your best, and that's all anyone can ask of anyone.”

It didn’t help--Ford just shrank further away.

“It didn't w-work. I tried and it d-didn't matter. I ruined everything! Bill won and all I d-did was hurt people. I'm just a m-mean person. I can't do anything right.”

_ Oh that was it! _ Stan stomped his foot.

“Hey!” He snapped vehemently, making them all jump and Ford cower a little. “You don’t talk about yourself like that!”

“Huh?” His brother whimpered, eyes wide. Stan snorted bitterly.

“We decided that's how we would talk about me, remember?” 

“What?”

“I'm the one who ruins everything, remember?  _ I'm _ the one who can't do anything right.” Stan folded his arms over his chest. Ford’s face scrunched in confusion and hurt. He rose to his feet, still holding his jacket close.

“B-but…you saved me, even though you knew I'd be upset.” He said.

“Yeah,” Stan scoffed, “and look at this apocalypse that I--”

“And even though I left you for dead you came as soon as I asked you to!” The boy insisted. His voice was beginning to waver again.

“Well I--”

“I n-never once listened to you or t-tried to help you or tried to hear your s-side of the story b-because I was too dumb!” Ford began to cry again. Stan took a step back, taken aback by his brother’s vehemence. 

“F-Ford--”

“And you were always there for me!” Ford began to wail loudly. “Y-you were-- _hic_ \--always there f-for me and I w-was never-- _hic_ \--there for you! It's the m-mean--meanest thing I ev-ever-- _hic_ \--did!” 

The boy abandoned his jacket and bolted to Stanley. He threw his arms around Stan’s legs. Stan waved his arms about, trying to keep his balance, as he stared in shock at the little boy yelling into his thigh.

“I’M SO SORRY! I’M SO SORRY LEE!”

Stan wrenched away so he wouldn’t be completely knocked to the ground. Ford just stood there, sobbing into his hands. Stan glanced away for a moment before kneeling down to be eye-level with his brother. He pulled Ford into his arms, hugging him tight. The little boy froze in his arms. Stan took a deep breath, trying to keep the emotions welling inside him in check.

“L-look. I ain't gonna say I'm not still angry for everything you did. But I did a lot too. Like McGucket said, we've all made our mistakes, okay? And you know what?” Stan’s voice began to waver as he fought back tears. “M-mistakes, shmistakes. We've all gotta learn from them eventually.”

Ford only sobbed into his shoulder. Stan rolled his eyes as he felt tears and snot dampen his suit. He pushed the kid away a little.

“Jeez, nerd, this is an expensive suit. Do I look like I’m made of money?” He cracked a faint smile, trying to show he was teasing, but Ford sniffled and looked at the ground guiltily. He even hid his hands behind his back, trying to hide what was “wrong” about him to seem less...Stan never knew, out-of-place? Nonetheless Stan winced.

“W-well, I ain’t. Sweet Moses you’re a mess. Here.” He reached out and gently lifted Ford’s glasses off his face. They had become all fogged up and wet from the boy’s crying. Stan pulled his handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and wiped them clean. Something began to harden in his gut, but it wasn’t anger or frustration or pain. 

“Remember when we were both this small, and we found that creepy old cave?” He asked casually, placing the glasses back on Ford’s face. The boy nodded shakily. 

“Do you remember what I told ya?”

“W-wherever we-- _hic_ \--g-go, we--w-we--” Speaking was too much for Ford, tears threatening to take over again as his chest heaved.

“We go together.” Stan finished for him. “That never changed and it never will, not if I can help it. Because we're family, because we're brothers, and because we're twins. G-got it?”

Ford just stared at him, eyes large and watery and looking all the world like a sad little puppy. Stan sighed, smiling reassuringly.

“Now, who are we?” He asked, a knowing glint to his eyes. The boy frowned thoughtfully for a moment, trying to place Stan’s words. When he did he gasped quietly.

“P-pines…” He said hesitantly.

“And what are we?”

“K-kings of New Jersey.” A ghost of a smile flickered over Ford’s face. That was enough to make the tears spill, although Stan was grinning.

“That's it!” He cried. “Kings of New Jersey. And are the Kings of New Jersey gonna let some glorified corn chip get the drop on us?”

“No!” Ford answered, giggling.

“Because who are we?”

“Pines!”

“And what are we?”

“Kings of New Jersey! Kings of New Jersey!” Ford chanted, laughing.

“Darn right we are! High six?” Stan held his hands out.

“High six!” Ford yelled happily, returning the high six. And when their hands connected, it wasn’t small hands hitting Stan’s, it was large, weathered ones. And in the blink of an eye Ford, the  _ real _ Ford, was back, kneeling on the ground in front of Stanley and laughing and crying and lacing their fingers together. Stan couldn’t help but laugh himself through his tears.

Finally their laughter faded away, and it was just Ford and Stan, grinning at each other. Suddenly Ford lurched forward, throwing his arms around Stanley.

“I love you, knucklehead.”

Stan smiled, rubbing his brother’s back.

“I know.”

The two stayed in their hug, relishing in the contact. That is, until Mabel started booing, loudly. 

“Boo! Booooo!” She yelled. She, Dipper, and McGucket were all standing a few feet away: they had watched the whole thing. Mabel elbowed McGucket until he joined in with her. “Boo!”

“Hey!” Stan let go of his brother, frowning.

“Come on, you gotta say it too!” She said. Stan’s mouth snapped shut.

“Yeah!” Fiddleford cried, before looking down at her, confused. “Uh...what’s he gotta say?”

“Say it! Say it! Say it! Say it!” Mabel reached over and nudged her brother. Dipper rolled his eyes and joined in with a begrudging smile, shaking his fists with her. Fiddleford piped in too. “Say it! Say it! Say it!”

“Alright! Alright!” Stan grumbled loudly, cutting them off. He crossed his arms and refused to make eye-contact with Ford. If anyone pointed out his blush he would deny it until the end of time.

"I--I love you too, nerd." He huffed finally. Mabel, Dipper, and Fiddleford broke out into cheers. Ford only laughed. His joy was a little infectious, and Stan found himself smiling against his will.

“I...thank you.” Ford said quietly, once the laughter had died down. “Thank you, all of you. For everything, for all you’ve done. But...but what are you doing here?”

“We’re rescuing you, poindexter.” Stan shoved him lightly. “Obviously.”

“Obvi...but, Bill turned me into gold.”

“Weeeelllll…” Mabel shrugged. “Yeah. But we got you out of the Fearamid at least! We’re all in the bunker now! Soos and Wendy and the others are keeping watch while we’re in here!”

“Yes, but  _ why  _ are you in here? I mean, it’s a miracle you got in at all, with the metal plate in my head, unless--unless…” Ford trailed off, realization dawning.

“I’m still gold, aren’t I?”

Stan patted his shoulder.

“Yeah. That’s why we’re in here. No one knows how to change you back except Bill and--well--hopefully,  _ you _ .” After a pause, Stan tilted his head. “ _ Do _ you?”

Ford smiled, shoulders sagging with relief.

“Yes, yes I do, thankfully. And with you all here, I can tell you how. When you leave my mindscape you can perform the spell and it’ll hopefully work.”

“Great! What is it?” Dipper asked eagerly. Ford gestured for them all to take a seat--this was going to be a long one--and set about explaining the spell. It was complicated, dark magic. It wasn’t druid magic, it was some form from another dimension-- _ Bill’s _ dimension.

“You have to be absolutely careful,” Ford warned once he finished explaining it all--and testing them on it to make sure they remembered, “And you have to work quickly. As soon as you start the spell it will be like a beacon to Bill or any of his cronies.”

“Alright. I guess we should get going, then.” Stan stood, dusting his pants off. The rest stood with him. Mabel nodded.

“Door out of the mindscape, appear!” She said dramatically.

Nothing happened.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” Ford apologized. “Nothing can manifest in here, I made this to keep me from--from hearing or--or seeing--or Bill…”

“Okay, then let’s get out of here!” Mabel hooted, taking off in a random direction. Technically there was no way to see the wall of the voidspace, but as long as the group headed in a straight direction they’d reach the end eventually. It wasn’t long before Mabel and Dipper ran headlong out of the voidspace with an electric  _ zap! _ Fiddleford leaped out after them. Stan was about to hop through next when he noticed Ford had stopped. The man had frozen a few steps behind, eyes wide with fear and panic. 

“I--I can’t…” He shuddered. “I c-can’t go back out there…”

He started when Stan took his hand. 

“Hey,” Stan said. “I know it’s rough out there. We saw a lot of it--and believe me, Sixer, you and I are gonna have a long talk about it some day. But,” He continued, “I think you can handle it, brother. And it won’t be for long, I promise.”

Ford swallowed nervously. “Alright.”

Stan led him to the very edge of the void, smiling reassuringly. But Ford was still hesitant.

“Do...do you want me stay with you while the others leave and turn you back to normal, then we can both get out of here?” Stan offered. Ford was taken aback.

“What? No, no, I can’t ask that of you, it’s so--”

“Hey, I’ve seen some of it. I know how bad it is. I wanna make sure you stay okay, Ford.” Stan raised a hand to halt his brother’s protest.

“I...I don’t...okay…” Ford gave in finally. Stan beamed, whacking his shoulder playfully.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Remember, wherever we go--”

Ford returned his smile and the grip on his hand.

“We go together.”

They walked out of the voidspace hand in hand, ready to take on the apocalypse.


	2. What Went Down in Candyland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's...it's time to talk about it.

Stan managed to find Ford sitting on a log and leaning against the totem pole, as separate and hidden from anyone as he could possibly be. Stan wasn’t sure if he could blame him; all the racket from inside the shack was enough to give anyone in a five-mile radius a headache.   
Yet at the same time, Stan couldn’t ignore the sick feeling that Ford was avoiding _him_. 

As soon as the man had been turned back to normal, they had all made a break for the Shack, leaving no time for talking--and the only reason they had survived that particular harebrained plan was because Bill had realized the object of his search wasn’t being held there (or maybe he just got fucking bored, it was likely) and had moved on. Or at the least, backed off for a time.

But in all that time, and all that time since, Ford hadn’t really spoken much. He quietly explained the Cipher Wheel, how it could trap Bill forever, pointing out matching symbols to people--but there were still spots on the wheel to be filled. Wendy noticed how the stitched heart was identical to one on her friend Robbie’s sweater; Mabel identified the star as the Tent of Telepathy symbol, meaning Gideon. Those two were trapped in Bill’s Fearamid--so if they were going to stop Bill, they were going to have to mount a rescue.  _ Another _ rescue. 

Fiddleford had taken charge of it almost immediately though, drawing plans to convert the Bill-proof Shack so they could bring  _ it _ to the Fearamid. Stan had to admit, the plan was plausible. Hell, it was actually  _ amazing _ . He was impressed. He had even tried to help out, initially. But...something was wrong. Stan wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but Dipper asked him to tear a beam out of the wall and...Stan couldn’t bring himself to do it. It wasn’t sentiment, the Shack was too much a mixture of terrible memories and good ones to be that. Whatever it was, Stan had feigned exhaustion, snagged a beer from deep in the fridge where he kept them hidden, and had gone looking for his brother.

Ford hadn’t looked him in the eye once since his return. Had hardly addressed him at all. Everyone noticed, although no one said a word about it. It was a silent tension. And Stan hated it. Weren’t they past this? After all they had been through in Ford’s head, weren’t they at the very least better now? 

Ford had... _ apologized _ . And thanked him, and hugged him, and Stan wasn’t about to let that all vanish.

He approached the log.

“Hey, uh, is this seat taken?” He said, even as he sat down. Ford started a little, but didn’t change his gaze from the space before him. 

“...Hello, Stanley.” He murmured. Stan frowned, but sighed and let it pass. Casually he opened the beer and drank. God he hated this stuff. But it was the only alcohol he really allowed himself to drink anymore. 

He held it out to Ford.

“Want some?”

Ford glanced at it briefly, but shook his head.

“No thank you. I suppose I should criticize you for getting buzzed when we’re about to attempt the...the nigh-on suicidal. But then I’d be a hypocrite.” With a small smile he showed the canteen Stan hadn’t realized he’d been holding. That certainly piqued his interest.

“Oh, shit, really?” Stan reached for it, but Ford pulled away. He eyed his brother skeptically. “Hey, don’t hog all the good booze for yourself. Didn’t you hear McGucket? It’s the end times.”

Ford scowled, but only for a moment before he glanced at the canteen and sighed, handing it over.

“Sure. But be careful, it’s--”

Stan took a swig. And practically  _ choked _ .

“ _ Fuck _ .” He rasped, coughing through the burn in his throat. He felt like his eyes were streaming.

“--strong.” Ford finished dryly.

“No fuckin’  _ shit _ .” Stan managed, eyeing the canteen. “What the hell is this? Some kinda super space whiskey?”

Ford stared off into the distance blankly, offering only a shrug.

“Fucking hell. Of course you would.” Stan passed the canteen back over. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Please. I’ve lived in your house for thirty years. You thought I  _ wouldn’t _ find your fucking life-time supply of booze?”

Ford winced, taking a drink from the canteen himself. He had no reaction to its potency. 

“No, I guess not. There’s nothing left of it either, I presume?”

“Nah, blew through it in like, a month.”

It was Ford’s turn to splutter.

“ _ What _ ?”

“Once I started up the whole Mystery Shack business, that--that was when I realized I wasn’t going to get you back, for...for a long time...if ever.” Stan said slowly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He stared down at his can of beer. “I got really low. Hell if it weren’t for Fiddleford I probably would have drank myself to death.”

“Fiddleford?”

“Yeah. He...he couldn’t help me with the portal, from whatever he was doing to his head. But he  _ did _ care for me, in the time that he remembered who the fuck I was. He threatened having me hospitalized if I didn’t quit. Dropped the habit within a week.”

“That afraid of hospitals?”

“That afraid of not working on the portal for so long.”

Ford stiffened at that, and looked to the side. Stan hadn’t noticed. He just shrugged.

“Alcohol always fucked me up. That’s why I don’t drink more than this cheap shit anymore--and on  _ rare _ occasions. Cigars n’ cigarettes were always more my vice anyway.”

Ford audibly  _ tsked _ at that.

“Hey, I’ll drop cigs when you drop booze.” Stan fired. Ford sighed in defeat.

“Touche.” 

“And don’t tell me in thirty years of alien hell you didn’t need a nicotine hit.”

Ford only rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue, so Stan took it as a ‘yes’. There was nothing but silence after that. As good a time as any to get straight to the point. Stan took a sip from his beer. He already felt mildly buzzed, likely a result of Ford’s space whiskey (Moses if Ford had been drinking that this whole time how was he even  _ standing _ ), and had the courage--or lack of inhibition--to speak.

“Ford...why won’t you look at me?” He asked. Ford immediately froze, as expected. “You’re kind of shutting yourself away from everyone--and I get that, what went down in Candyland wasn’t pretty, but...at least you look everyone in the eye. You won’t even meet mine.”

For what felt like the longest time, Ford didn’t answer. Finally he took a long pull from his canteen. He shuddered at the burn, and sighed, this time with fatigue.

“Everything Bill did to me...it’s still there,” Ford explained quietly, “it’s like a terrible nightmare, so vivid that I’m...I’m still having trouble telling what’s false and what’s real. I just...need the solitude, to sort it all out. And the booze, I guess, to make all the noise in my head shut the fuck up.” He finished bitterly.

“And?” Stan pressed. Ford hadn’t answered his question.

“And…” Ford inhaled, and in his exhale the words rushed out. “Every time I look at you it  _ hurts _ .”

Stan tried to hold back his wince, he really did. But Ford was still speaking. His voice was shaky.

“Of all the changes Bill made, the ones he made to memories of... _ us _ , they hurt the most. They hurt even more because they’re the hardest ones to figure out--figure out if I really did hurt you that much, if I really was such a monster--”

“Hey!” Stan snapped. “You’re  _ not _ a monster--I don’t care what shit you’ve done or what that piece of shit’s told you.”

“But--but aren’t I--everything I’ve done--”

“Stanford, you’ve done a lot of great things in your life.” Stan leaned back, crossing his arms. “You’ve also done a lot of shitty things. Not because you’re a monster, but because you’re  _ human _ . You wanna know how I know that? Because I’ve done a ton of shitty things too. And, hell, a couple of good things. And as far as I’m concerned, I’m as human as they get. You made  _ mistakes _ . That’s human.”

“But--”

“We make mistakes, and what did I tell ya about mistakes in your head?” When Ford looked down and away, Stan prodded. “Come on, what did I say?”

“...Mistakes, shmistakes.” Ford grumbled.

“Exactly. Mistakes shmistakes.” Stan repeated happily. He took another sip of beer.

“Mistakes they may be,” Ford said after a pause, “Bill made them  _ worse _ . And it’s been so long I can’t remember with confidence how horribly I screwed up.”

“Look, do you want me to tell you what really happened?” Stan snapped, slamming the beer down. “‘Cause I will! That day in the alley, when those bastards from the other side of the tracks were beatin’ you and callin’ you kike? They were calling  _ us _ kikes, and we were  _ kicking their asses _ for letting the word leave their goddamned mouths.

“And the day I got kicked out? You didn’t have the words to speak to me, you thought I betrayed you. You didn’t call me pathetic, you sure as  _ hell _ didn’t call me a shlemeil, or any of those other things. You were never that cruel.

“The night we fought, you kicked me into that engraving  _ accidentally _ . You only did it once, and you were doing it in self-defense--I  _ was _ attacking you, after all. And you immediately apologized right after, ya felt so awful for doing it--I was just too angry to care. Or listen.”

Stan grabbed Ford’s hand; his brother had been staring intently at the ground, eyes wide and fingers digging into his thighs to keep them from visibly trembling. The contact made Ford’s head jerk up, but he kept his gaze fixed straight ahead.

“Ford.” Stan tugged on his twin’s hand. “Ford look at me.”

Ford squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing audibly. But Stan waited patiently. He would wait for this. Finally Ford exhaled deeply and slightly tilted his head in Stan’s direction. He was looking at Stanley, but never at the same spot for too long. Stan sighed and cupped Ford’s face with his free hand, forcing the man to look at him head on. Ford looked on the brink of tears, and now that he couldn’t look away his eyes were fixed to a spot between Stan’s eyes; that was all the confirmation Stan needed to know which memory was  _ really _ haunting his brother.

“I’m  _ alive _ , Sixer.” Stan said firmly. “Relatively healthy, a little achy and tired--actually,  _ really _ achy and tired--but alive. Heart’s beatin’ good and strong. No arrow’s been in my skull, and as far as I’m concerned, no arrow ever will be--and it certainly won’t be put there by  _ you _ . You never shot me, Ford.”

Ford whimpered, trying to pull away. Stan wouldn’t let him go.

“You wouldn’t ever shoot me, Ford. You could hate me like no tomorrow and I know for a fact you’d never shoot me. And guess what? I’m telling you this because I ain’t shot! You see this? Solid.” On impulse, Stan cupped the back of Ford’s head and bonked their foreheads together. “Bonk. No arrow’s messed with that. Bonk bonk. You hear that? That’s two brickheads smashin’ together.”

It worked on Mabel, and believe it or fucking not it actually worked on Ford. He laughed...it quickly became a sob, though, and suddenly Stan was pulled into a tight hug. 

“I don’t want to lose you, Stanley.” He heard, wept into his shoulder. He sighed, returning the embrace.

“You’re not gonna, Sixer. Not anytime soon.” He reassured Ford. “Not if I can help it.”

“Out of everything, out of all those nightmares, that one...that one was the worst.” Ford mumbled. “I’m so sorry you had to see it.” 

“It’s alright, Ford.”

“And--oh  _ god _ the kids!” Ford gasped, pulling away. “They  _ saw  _ it, oh  _ no _ \--”

“Ford,  _ Ford _ .” Stan stopped him before he could freak out any more. “Yeah, they saw it. But they know it’s not real. They were shaken by it, yeah, but they’re strong. You’ve seen them, they’re fine!”

“Mabel went so pale when I asked her where her crossbow was…” Ford murmured weakly, curling in on himself a little. Stan grabbed his shoulders, trying to keep Ford from shutting himself off completely. 

“Ford, it’s okay. As soon as it happened we ran off, and after that we made sure to keep them shielded from any other shit.” Stan felt a pang of unease as he thought back to the  _ first _ time they’d had to shield the kids. “And honestly...I don’t think it was the worst thing we had to shield them from.”

“How could that not be the worst?” Ford cried incredulously. Stan frowned then. This wasn’t exactly how he wanted to broach the subject...but he  _ needed _ to know. 

He let go of Ford, but when he opened his mouth to speak, no words came out. His voice wasn’t working. Ford watched, waiting with equal amounts of curiosity and concern. Finally with a frustrated grunt Stan snatched Ford’s canteen, and took a strong swig from it despite the coughing fit it sent him into. When he had recovered, and shoved the canteen back into a bewildered Ford’s hands, he dragged a hand down his face.

“It...wasn’t.” Stan finally managed, letting the alcohol calm his nerves as much as they possibly could. “It wasn’t the worst. Me dying? That’s...that’s okay, if only because I’ve thought up of much worse ways to go.”

“ _ What _ ?  _ Stanl _ \--”

“Let me finish.” Stan growled, cutting Ford off. He stared down at his hands. Why was this so hard?

“Okay, look. There was...one of those nightmares we came across--this might be hard for you to answer, but...I  _ gotta  _ know. We…” Stan fought to say the words. “We were on this alien spaceship. It was really weird, but, but we got to this huge room. And, well...the outside was…” He paused, letting the only good moment of that memory wash over him. “It was beautiful...but inside…”

“What was happening inside?” Ford pressed, curious. He hadn’t placed the memory yet. Stan swallowed, hands clenched into fists on his knees.

“You were...negotiating, with an alien. It had something you wanted, and wouldn’t give it to you, and you--you were threatening to blow up the whole ship for it. But then...it grabbed you...and...look I just want to know if it was real. Was that a memory, or did Bill mess with that one?”

Ford had looked away from him, resignation in his features. He certainly knew what Stan was talking about now. Stan felt his stomach twist.

“If you are asking whether or not I was raped…” Ford sighed. “No, no I wasn’t. That was Bill’s manipulation--granted, fed by my own vivid imagination, but...it was a nightmare, and nothing more. In reality--” Stan assumed the growling noise Ford made was the alien’s name “--was too much of a coward. He surrendered, gave me the IntDim Hopper, and let me go. I mean he tried to attack me afterwards, so I  _ did _ end up blowing up his ship. But I’m fairly certain he escaped. He’s still out there somewhere, I’m sure, being a little  _ shmendrick _ and going back on other deals. So in answer to your question, it wasn’t real.”

Stan let himself sag with relief.  _ Oh thank god. Thank the fucking lord. _

“Stanley?” Ford asked. A six-fingered hand rested on his shoulder.

“What?”  Stan jerked away. The concern in the man’s features was enough to tell him that he may have actually spoken out loud.

“Stan, you seemed really worked up about this.” Ford said. “It’s...it’s honestly not the most nightmarish thing Bill did to my memories. It was actually one of the easiest for me to recognize as false.”

“Good.” Stan said, perhaps a little too harshly. Ford frowned.

“Stan, are you alright?”

“I’m fine. I just...who wants to see their brother violated in the worst way possible!?” Stan snapped, leaning forward on his knees. He was really trying not to think about what he saw anymore. 

But there must have been too much defensiveness in his tone, or perhaps Ford was better at reading him now. Ford shoved Stan back, so they could look each other in the eye. Stan squirmed in his seat.

“Stanley, why are you so upset about this nightmare in particular?” Ford asked, gaze so intense Stan felt like his skin was burning. He jerked away from his brother, but not out of aggression. He supposed by prying about this he was going to get some prying in return. He picked his beer back up and took another drink. He forced himself not to down the whole can.

He sighed, composing himself. And internally he yelled at himself, for not being able to handle this. It’s been decades. He  _ should _ be able to handle this. Yet here he was, trying to drink away his pain and his memories and twitching with the need for a smoke. 

“I…” It sounded hoarse in his throat, and Stan exhaled. He took a moment to gather his words. “Look, ask me that question again, and I’ll answer...but I need you to take my answer at face value, alright?”

He looked at Ford, eyes pleading.

“Don’t read into it, don’t ask any follow ups, just let it be. Take my answer and leave it. Please?”

“Stanley--”

“ _ Promise me _ .” 

“...Fine.” Ford allowed. “I promise. Why are you so upset about this, Stanley?”

Stan eyed his brother bleakly.

“Because I know how it feels. I know what it’s like. And I’ll be damned to hell before I let you know it.”

Stan nursed his beer quietly as he watched Ford’s reaction out of the corner of his eye. The man was practically spluttering, and alternating looks of horror and anger were flashing across his face. Finally he bit his lip, and sat back. He seemed to be absorbing what he just heard--or at the very least fighting to hold his tongue. So in the silence Ford and Stan sat on the log and stared ahead of them, and not at each other. Finally Ford found his words.

“I...I will abide by your request, Stan. I won’t break your promise.” He said stiffly. “But…” He looked at Stan. “You can’t expect me to keep it forever.”

Stan scowled and purposefully looked away.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m your brother. Furthermore, I’m your  _ older _ brother.”

Stan bristled.

“What, so  _ now _ you decide to be a ‘caring responsible older brother’?” 

“I have to start somewhere, don’t I?” Ford fired back sternly. His irritation melted, and then his eyes held nothing but shame and regret. “Since I never was before.”

“I don't blame you for that.” Stan huffed. “We were kids.”

“You should. We were adults.” Ford replied. 

“You weren’t--and  _ aren’t _ , my babysitter, or my caretaker. Hell, you weren’t obligated to be my brother, Ford. You realize that, right?” Stan raised an eyebrow. “That whole ‘blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb’ thing, ya know? If you had really wanted to cut me off, I would have had to accept it eventually.”

“And yet, every now and then, I’d get a phone call. No one would ever speak, and once I said hello they would always hang up. That doesn’t sound like acceptance, Stanley.”

“You--you have no proof that was me.” Stan said, maybe a bit too quickly. Ford raised an eyebrow at him in turn.

“Stanley, how do you think I found you so easily? Not to mention I had an engineer for a best friend who used to rewire telephones in  _ college _ .”

Stan grumbled something akin to “fuckin’ hillbilly genius” under his breath. Ford only frowned.

“Stan, if I hadn’t been such a pigheaded idiot, I would have reached out to you within months. You wouldn’t have had to go through any of the shit you went through. Holding that damn grudge for ten years will always be the biggest regret of my life.”

“No, no, that shouldn’t--”

“You were right Stanley.” Ford looked up at the burning sky, voice dripping with dejection. “I  _ did _ ruin your life.”

“It’s not like I didn’t have a hand in ruining it myself, Ford.” Stan said exasperatedly. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, you’re sorry,  _ really _ sorry, and I appreciate it. I really do. You have no idea how much it means to me to hear you say it. But you can’t mope about it forever. I accept your apology, and now we move on.”

Ford stared down at his hands.

“I...I don't know how you can say that.” He murmured. “I don't know how you can't hate me.”

The man jumped when five fingers interlaced with his six.

“Because we’re family, because we’re brothers, and because we’re twins.” Stan said easily. “We’re stronger than our problems. We can't forget them, but we can move past them.”

Ford stared at their joined hands before returning the grip with a weak smile.

“You know, we always could--” he suggested jokingly. Stan wouldn't hear it.

“Haha,  _ no _ . I like my head the way it is, thanks. You ever try and point that gun at me I’ll punch your face.”

This time Ford actually laughed, with no tears or sobbing this time. Stan smiled; he was glad he was still able to cheer his brother up, even after all this time and all that had happened between them.

“I'll keep it in mind,” Ford chuckled, continuously squeezing Stan’s hand, like he never wanted to let go. “I'll keep it in mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you were really gunning for an epilogue, and, well, so was I. I'm not sure if it's exactly what people were looking for, but I envision Stan and Ford's reconciliation--at least, in the GFA verse--taking a while and many _many_ discussions.  
>  I also tried to tie GFA back in with mainstream canon, since I do want to keep it all as canon as possible...with a few bits of irony added in ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, another Gravity Falls Adventure! I have to say, this one's definitely the darkest out of all the prospective GFAs. But hey, happy ending, right??? Definitely no canon Weirdmageddon, but I certainly don't think we needed that much angst in canon (what can i say? im an angst monger)
> 
> Here are the Yiddish translations:
> 
> 1) "God what the hell have I done!?"  
> 2) "Shit,"  
> 3) "Take back the Falls."  
> 4) "junk"  
> 5) "conniving bastard"  
> 6) "useless loser"  
> 7) "Go away!"  
> 8) "Kine-ahora" is a magical phrase to ward off the evil eye/bad luck (kind of like making the sign of the cross or knocking on wood)
> 
> And so with another GFA fic released means a new one needs to be chosen! Take a gander at the titles below, and from now until Sunday, February 28, you can vote! You can vote by commenting here or on my tumblr (url is the same as my AO3 handle)
> 
> The titles are:
> 
> The Adventure with the Dancing  
> The Adventure with the Pie  
> The Adventure with the Witch  
> The Adventure with the Waterfall  
> The Adventure with the Scars  
> The Adventure with the Salsa  
> The Adventure with the Wings  
> The Adventure with the Kidnapping  
> The Adventure with the Hijacking
> 
> So go ahead and vote, and thank you all so much for reading!
> 
>  **EDIT:** VOTING IS NOW CLOSED! Thank you all for your wonderful comments and your votes! The next story will be the Adventure with the Scars! Stay tuned!


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